Made Up Of Multiple Parts
by AnthroQueen
Summary: It happens like this and this and this.
1. Part One

**Well, ladies and gentlemen, here it is. I've been breaking my head over this story for weeks now and maybe I'm ready for it to see daylight or maybe I'm just sick of nitpicking it, but here it is. Let me remind you that I took _massive_ creative liberties with this thing. I've seen maybe 10% of 6B, probably not even that much. I can count on one hand the amount of scenes I actually watched and I haven't seen a full episode, so believe me, some details are most likely going to be wrong. But you've got to bend the rules a little to make things work sometimes. So, here we are.**

 **I watched the Spoby scenes from 6x20 and then my brain wouldn't shut off. I brainstormed for a week straight and wrote notes down on my phone at odd hours of the night. I ended up writing over 36,000 words. That's _insane_. But I ended up breaking it up into three different parts and all three will be posted at some point today, because I don't want to keep you hanging and they all go together. Just know that this is most likely one of the most difficult things I've ever written and it's easily one of the things I've worked hardest on.**

 **I own nothing, of course, and this is just where my brain went post-6B. I'm sorry if it's terrible. I'm sorry if you hate it. You can tell me either way. Thank you for supporting me by reading, regardless, and if you choose to review, thank you for that, also. You know I love you all. This story would be here anyway because my muse never shuts the hell up, BUT you guys certainly make it easier. This was very therapeutic. This made me feel light years better once I got it off my chest. I really needed this. And... well... I'm going to stop rambling here. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Part One

 _So I wait for you like  
a lonely house,  
till you will see me again  
and live in me.  
Till then my windows ache._

 _\- Pablo Neruda_

* * *

I.

She's late.

She's never been late a week in her life and she's already stressing over her papers and her exams and whether or not she's going to continue onto graduate school and she _doesn't need this right now_. She used to have nightmares of porcelain dolls with cracked faces and teeth and bones and skulls caked with dirt and _scared yet, you should be, bitch_ , but now, there's a baby, a screaming, crying, flailing baby, with diapers and bottles and strollers, and parents who are falling apart at the seams. She tells Toby in an ungraceful rant, in the midst of a fight, and all his thoughts die upon his lips and his face grows pale. She's nauseous at the mere thought and she doesn't know why this feels just like the movies; _we were so careful_ , Toby recites in perfect form, and they were, they always have been, and she has no idea how this is happening or why this is happening to them. All in all, she goes through the motions, pees on the stick, waits three minutes. She doesn't have control of her life even now that she does.

He's sitting across the room, stirring coffee. Counterclockwise three times, clockwise three times, counterclockwise three times, clockwise twice, counterclockwise three times, clockwise once. He's counting down, but he's making her even more nervous and she needs him to stop. Instead, he begins to plan their future and with every step, she feels the walls close in on her, the water rise over her head, the thin veil of her successful career slip completely out of reach. And the thing is… Living with Toby is what she's always wanted. Waking up with their limbs pretzeled around one another, curling up on the couch and letting their wanderlust carry them on journeys around the world, staying up long into the night with the excuse of studying but the reality of wanting to be the first face he sees when he gets off work… It all seems like a dream. But the dream is not to be; the dream is instead interjected with an infant and an ocean of regret and resentment in between them. They do not move in together. They break up instead.

The timer hits zero, her phone jingles harshly into the tension and he stays even though they're both crying and broken and have made up their minds. She slides off the bed, runs a hand through her hair and tries to pull herself together. She fails. On the bathroom sink, the test rests innocently, eagerly displaying her results, and she marches toward it to the beat of an unknown execution drum. Her heart is in her throat and she feels as though she's going to vomit, either way. It's smooth and slender and displaying one single, deep blue line. Negative. A sigh of relief escapes her lips and she still finds herself bursting into a fresh set of tears, her sobs echoing off the tile, as Toby knocks twice and enters, sitting down beside her. The coffee's long since abandoned but she still sees it when she looks at his shaking hands ( _counterclockwise, counterclockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise_ ) and he doesn't touch her, doesn't reach for her, and she wishes he would.

 _I'll move in_ , he tells her and she's instantly confused. _I'll transfer. I'll pick up odd carpentry jobs. I'll go back to school; take some classes online. We can get an apartment near campus. I'll take the baby so you can study. We'll both support you if you do want to go to grad school. I'll get a degree. I'll get a better job. We'll survive. We'll be all right._

And then it hits her- he's reading her reaction all wrong.

Through tears, she shakes her head, tells him it's negative, tells him it was a false alarm, tells him it's done.

 _They're done_.

And the look on his face is what really pushes her over the edge, because he's relieved, yes, but there's something else there, something else that she doesn't feel, something else she hadn't seen in her own face upon receiving the news. There's a bit of disappointment there, right behind the bluest blue of Toby's eyes, that completely unravels her. A small, tiny, almost nonexistent part of him _wanted_ this. And suddenly, it all comes spiraling down and she can't stop picturing Toby crafting a crib from his bare hands, Toby holding her hand through the birth of their child, Toby cutting the umbilical cord and cradling their newborn for the very first time. He's there to read the child bedtime stories, to care for him when he's sick and hold her when she's sad. And it's absolutely shredding her heart because this child had never existed, had never had the chance to come to be, and yet, Toby had already loved it. He had already planned for it and been prepared to drop everything in order to put the child first.

 _Why hadn't she?_

And her heart skips a beat when she looks at Toby, then, or maybe it's something else. Maybe it's deep down; her gut, her uterus, her soul. This is the difference between him and her. This is the root of all their problems. This is the reason they'd broken up, right here, right now. He had been able to do something that the mere _thought_ of doing made her want to crawl under the covers and hide for days.

 _What is wrong with her?_

One day, she'd looked at their relationship and their differences were a mere droplet of water. Today, she looks at them and that water has turned into the Pacific Ocean. He kisses her forehead when he leaves and tells her this doesn't change anything, that he still cares deeply for her, that she can call him and text him whenever she needs to. She nods. She doesn't.

Her stomach hurts all throughout her midterm the next morning and she can't concentrate. She excuses herself to use the restroom and there it is, her period. The logical side of her brain is telling her that this happens to everyone, that stress is a common reason for a late cycle, that pregnancy isn't always the reason for a missed period. But the other side of her brain, the one she'd been brought up not to use, is lancing salt into her wounds because _of fucking course_ this would happen; her body knows better than her mind that she isn't fit to be a mother. Without warning, she begins to cry and she wonders how long she'll be like this, how long it'll take until she can be everything Toby was to herself. She imagines it'll likely last the rest of her life, that the damage of losing someone like him will carry into adulthood and she'll become one of those cynical, man-hating, relationship-phobes who's afraid to get close to someone and have them peel back her layers to reveal the mess she is inside. _But even if you do_ , she reminds herself instantly, her conscience bold and ostentatious, _You can't blame Toby for this_.

 _You did this to yourself_.

She returns to her exam three minutes before her professor calls for pencils down. In two weeks, when he emails them the results, she fails. She pretends to care.

* * *

II.

He's concentrating.

Throwing himself into his work is how he'd gotten through the heartbreak in the first place. He'd taken a page out of her book and reached deep within himself to find the motivation to pursue a higher education. It took him years to complete which should have only occupied a handful of semesters, but he'd had to adjust his schedule to fit that of a police officer by day and night, carpenter on the side. Slowly, he'd begun to mend. Slowly, he'd built a new life for himself and his name had become less of something the people in Rosewood avoided and more of something they sought out whenever they needed help. And slowly, he found himself opening up to the idea of moving on, and before he'd even realized it, he had. And here they are now, thick as thieves, and she makes him so incredibly happy and their relationship is smooth sailing and uncomplicated and he's going to marry her. They're going to live in a beautiful house, they're going to make beautiful babies, they're going to live a beautiful life, happily ever after. He works when he can on the biggest surprise of all, the most difficult and frustrating and hopefully, eventually, rewarding task he's ever taken on and he tears at his hair and swears under his breath because it needs to be _perfect_. And it's now, on a day like this one, that his world gets flipped on its axis.

It's been four long years, but still, nothing breaks his concentration quite like Spencer Hastings.

He hadn't heard her approach; hell, if you ask him, it seems almost as if she'd appeared out of thin air, as if she'd been here all along. But he senses eyes on his back and the moment he turns around, _everything_ comes rushing back to him, pushing past the barrier he'd spent so long building up. He's seen her a few times since their gut-wrenching separation, but only in passing and they haven't spoken, save for a few birthday wishes and random hellos, here and there. She looks delightfully the same; she's still dressed as perfectly polished and poised as ever, her eyes still sparkle in the glistening sunlight, her smile's just as wide as he imagines his is upon the sight of her. Her hair's a bit different and those worry lines that had been a permanent feature on her face have disappeared, but otherwise, the demanding toll of the nation's capital had not changed her. He tears off his gloves and safety goggles, crosses the ocean of distance between them and pulls her in for a hug. All is well.

There's a moment of silence between them following the acknowledgment of her arrival and he has so many questions, each begging to be asked before their counterparts, but somehow, they never make it past his lips. Feeling overwhelmingly deprived of her company, he has the sudden, desperate urge to take out to lunch, sit her down, and have her relay every last excruciating detail of her life from the moment he left her dorm room four years ago. He'd promised her that very day that he would always be there for her, that he'd always be reachable for moral and emotional support. _Call me whenever you need to_ , he'd said in that twenty-year-old naïve tone of his and they were both crying. _Call me and I swear I'll answer. It doesn't matter that we're not… I'll always answer._ She hadn't. Eventually, he stopped expecting her to. And upon the morning of his departure, he'd asked her, rather desperately at the time, not to be strangers, and then one day he woke up and realized that's exactly what they were.

"Wow," Spencer says a moment later and he snaps from his daydreaming to realize she's poring over his blueprints. She, too, must've wanted to relieve the insufferable tension. "This is really impressive."

"I, uh," He shrugs and he's never been good at taking compliments, least of all from her. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."

"How's it going?"

"It's harder than I thought. I curse a lot. It's very therapeutic," He replies and wonders if she'll stay in Rosewood a while, if honesty will be their new thing. "How's Washington?"

"Um… I curse a lot," She nods and it makes him grin. "It's very therapeutic."

If he's being honest with her, then he has to be honest with himself as well- she's the whole reason this house is leaving the blueprint stage. She'd once confessed to him about three months, or so, into her college career, that university is the hardest thing she'd ever done. It fascinated him. To him, she was gliding through school without a care in the world, acing her tests, joining extracurricular activities, interning with campaign managers and basically taking Washington D.C. by storm. He'd never suspected, not once, that she was struggling, and he wonders, now, if this is when he started to lose her. But she'd gone out there, she hadn't given up, and she'd persevered and it's one of the most inspiring things he'd ever seen. If Spencer could do it, if Spencer could change the course of her life, then he could too. He could do anything he wanted as long as he never gave up; she'd taught him that. And this house isn't the hardest thing he's ever done- he's already lived through worse- so that's got to count for something.

Something changes in her eyes, then, when he mentions Caleb. She grows a bit jittery, almost nervous, and he has no idea what that means. Once upon a time, he'd known every nervous tick, every sidelong glance, every tilt of her head and he knew a hundred and one ways to right every wrong. He'd prided himself with that. But this Spencer… Well. He doesn't know her at all. And it seems strange, to him, that when he'd talked to Caleb, his meeting with Spencer in D.C. had sounded like a one time thing, an accidental collision of old acquaintances in one of the largest cities in the country. But Spencer speaks as though the two of them are close friends and he finds it quite ironic that when their rocky little circle of friends imploded, she and Caleb were the only two left standing. He can't say he's disappointed, though; Caleb is one of his closest friends and if she hadn't felt comfortable enough opening up to him in times of struggle… Well, at least she'd had someone.

He tries to mend the awkwardness with a joke- _we're the brotherhood of ex-boyfriends, we've got to stick together_ \- and only succeeds in making things even more difficult. He should've known.

Her smile fades and her eyes fall to her feet. He never thought, looking back, that this would ever happen to them; that the day would come where he wouldn't remember how to make her laugh or how to cheer her up or what to say, in general. He isn't surprised to know she's back because of Alison and Charlotte; hell, if anything, he's placated, because unlike the two of them, some things _never_ change. It's bittersweet to hear her talk about her three best friends, because he knows they'd lost touch, too, over the passing years and he wouldn't have expected this, either. They'd been close for so long, they'd been through so much, and then, they were nothing. He'll add it to the list of all the things that just aren't right, just aren't _fair_ , under the circumstances. And this conversation is good, it's something, but it's small talk and all the questions he'd wanted to ask her still haven't made their way to the surface. So he does what his subconscious is telling him _not_ to do- he asks her to dinner. A light ignites behind the warmest amber of her eyes as she hastily agrees and he tries to ignore the burgeoning excitement in his stomach.

He smiles. She smiles, too. And then she's gone.

Or, so he thinks. "Toby?"

He turns back and the look on her face is inquisitive and familiar. It's the most he's recognized her all afternoon. "Who are you building the house for?"

Defensively, he shrugs, "What makes you think I'm building it for somebody?"

"Because I know you," Her voice comes to him like a whisper, a combination of their turbulent past, their empty present, their unknown future.

And, not for the first time, Spencer Hastings leaves him inexplicably impressed, because while he hadn't been able to place a finger on her thoughts, she was already reading his like Braille.

* * *

III.

They're heading for deeper waters. They're past the point of no return.

He makes her feel happy like she hasn't felt in years. One moment, Spencer looked at Caleb and there was nothing and the next, there was something. She feels like a schoolgirl having a crush on someone she knows she probably shouldn't and her conscience is there, screaming at the top of its lungs, _Hanna Marin is your_ best _friend_. It's hard to ignore but somehow, she does it. She finds it easier to focus on how he makes her feel rather than what he doesn't. He makes her feel wanted. He makes her feel carefree. He makes her feel numb, but in a good way, a way where nothing can touch her; not pain or stress or heartache. He makes her feel alive with the possibility of a new beginning even though she's back where it all started, living the everyday déjà vu. She knows it's wrong on so many levels; she knows, deep down, she's only hurting everyone she's ever cared about in the process. But he makes her feel like none of this matters.

However-

The campaign manager is speaking German or Polish or gibberish; he isn't, but he may as well be, because Spencer can't understand a word he's saying the moment she spots Toby out of the corner of her eye.

He's holding an engagement ring. She knows _he_ knows she saw it.

It feels like being stabbed repeatedly in the chest. It feels like being hit by a freight train. It feels like blowing her brains out. It feels like she's slowly dying and only _he_ is getting the happy ending and she should've seen this coming, really, because Toby was only ever going to get a happy ending so long as he's not with her. And everything comes racing back to her the moment she sees that ring and she cannot stop it. _I love you so much I wanted to say that first pretending not to love you was the hardest thing I've ever done if we had a real baby what would it look like I'm picturing a newborn with a six-pack I do know how to make flan why am I not surprised mind if I stay here for a while everything I've done was so I could protect you I was tired of not being able to protect the one person in this world who matters most to me you are my once upon a time do me a favor if you ever get the urge to run away again call me first okay you're taking me with you and we're never coming back I wrote it about you_ -

And it hurts. It hurts _so_ much. And Caleb's never made her feel like this.

She doesn't know if this is a good sign or a bad one.

* * *

IV.

He knows.

The moment Caleb approaches him, the hesitant look in his eyes gives him away. It all makes sense, now; the way his usually social best friend suddenly avoids him, the strange, jittery way Spencer had reacted to his bringing Caleb up in conversation, and everything in between. So maybe he's a masochist, maybe he needs to hear it out loud, maybe he's so used to the pain that when it isn't out in the open, he needs to instigate it, but he makes Caleb say it. And the thing is, he's wholly and irrevocably happy and in love with Yvonne. He's lucky he found her; she's bubbly and driven and smart as a whip and their relationship is what's keeping him going, these days. He's moved on. He's given himself over completely to another person and another wonderful person, so he's okay. Really. This combined with the part of him that _needs_ to hear it from his friend's mouth is what eventually prompts him to shake an answer out of Caleb.

"It's Spencer."

"Oh," Toby finds himself saying because he'd known all along and still, it aches. "How does she feel about it?"

"I think the same."

"Well if it's what you both want, then it's not complicated."

But inside, he's screaming. He tries not to. He tries to put his friend and his ex-girlfriend's happiness above all else. _They're moving on just like you did_ , he tells himself over and over until Caleb leaves him behind. _If they're happy, you're happy_. And he is, really. Why wouldn't he be happy? This is what he contemplates the rest of the afternoon. What reason would there be for him to wish ill on two of the people he cares most about? His brain kicks into overdrive and all of a sudden, explodes with reasons. These reasons continue to pile on, long after he's left, long into his dinner with Yvonne, long after they've gone to sleep. He lies awake, trying desperately not to think of Spencer and Caleb, and even more so, Spencer and Caleb _together_ , and he begs his mind for a break. The question remains- why wouldn't he be happy? _He's my best friend_ , he pleads with himself before slipping into a restless sleep.

Somewhere, deep down, his conscience shouts back, _Exactly_.

* * *

V.

They're engaged.

They're engaged and they're _coming her way_.

She begins to practice her opening statements, congratulations and well wishes under her breath, but she can't find a way to phrase them without sounding completely pretentious and sarcastic. Instead, she pastes on a smile and sticks a hand out in greeting before her friendly gesture is bypassed and Yvonne collects her in a hug. It takes Spencer by surprise but it placates her just a bit; she knows how introverted and sensitive and softhearted Toby can be and she's glad he's marrying a hugger. She's excitable and seems genuinely interested in meeting her and Spencer's only slightly on edge when she mentions how much Toby's told her; she may need to shake that information out of her a little later. But in these early interactions with Yvonne, Spencer notices two things- she's completely impressed by how put together, intelligent and likeable Yvonne is, and she sees absolutely nothing in Yvonne that she can compare to herself.

Oh, and a third thing- her left ring finger is entirely bare.

(And a fourth thing- it's absolutely killing her to see how fondly Toby's looking at her and a fifth thing- those little inside jokes used to be _their_ inside jokes and a sixth thing- Toby doesn't like Rosewood, either, and she wonders how much Yvonne knows about what's happened to him here and a seventh thing- she's definitely a crazy ex-girlfriend stalker if they've ever seen one and an eighth thing- this is much, much harder than she'd ever thought)

"It's a small town," Toby shrugs a moment later. "We're going to run into each other."

"So you didn't propose?" Spencer asks and she doesn't know why. He clearly hadn't and really, was it any of her business why not?

"Officer Toby?" Yvonne calls sweetly. "Could you help me out with this?"

And he does. He walks away from her and she's left standing in the middle of the street, their unfinished conversation lingering in the air around her.

Yvonne calls out a goodbye and Spencer grins back, unable to hate her despite the fact that a part of her had really, really wanted to.

* * *

VI.

Somehow, she ends up back here again.

She isn't surprised; she's always been an addict and one shot of Toby being back in her life hadn't been enough to satiate her.

He looks less than thrilled that she's paying him a visit and, honestly, she doesn't know why he would be. She tries a joke on for size but she should have learned from when he did it that they're not quite _there_ yet. "So you're pulling a Toby?"

"Spence, we're not an _us_ anymore," He tells her simply. "You don't get to weigh in on my life."

It hurts more than it probably should and they're both with different people and she _knows_ this. But she immediately gets defensive. "I just thought that we'd found a way to be friends."

"Honestly?" He shrugs. "It was a lot easier being your friend when you lived in D.C."

And there it is, the inevitable truth she'd been hesitant to acknowledge. She is the very reason he hadn't proposed to Yvonne and she's been back a handful of weeks and she's already ruining things for him. It angers her and maybe she takes this out on the wrong person. "Toby, you know that I can't go anywhere right now, okay? The cops are asking us a hundred questions and I am really helping my mom with this campaign."

Toby sighs. "I get it, Spence."

Just like that, all the guilt and irritation and frustration she'd expressed melt away. _Spence_. It's been so long since she's heard that come from his mouth and it brings a grin to her own. She feels seventeen again and if this truck were _their_ truck, she's sure any minute now they'd jump in, drive to the lookout point and kiss under the stars, promising to love each other through anything. It makes her sappy and sad and nostalgic. "Why is it so easy to fall back into old habits?"

"They're hard to give up," Toby tells her honestly and his eyes have never been so blue and pure. "That's what makes them habits."

Throughout their relationship, he'd praised her brilliance, he'd been impressed by her intelligence, he'd joked about how there was seemingly nothing she didn't know how to do. He'd always believed her to be the genius, but Spencer disagrees, and in this moment, she knows it's true.

Toby Cavanaugh is far wiser than she could ever hope to be.

* * *

VII.

It's not strange.

Honestly, he'd been expecting it to be; seeing your current girlfriend have a running conversation with your ex-girlfriend just always seemed like something he hadn't wanted to be a part of and it is the very situation that fuels many a competitive, domineering scene in television and movies, but Yvonne and Spencer are professionals. He watches from afar as Yvonne's face lights up at something Spencer's said and the two share in laughter before being pulled apart for separate activities. Yvonne's eyes seek his out and she grins at him, seeking to pacify him with an unspoken message of, _See? And you were worried. It's all good_. Toby nods and grins back. But it's Spencer who approaches him a moment later, a somewhat impressed, somewhat complacent look upon her face and when he shoots her a questioning glance, the truth comes out of her.

"I like her."

This, he wasn't expecting. It isn't that he thinks Spencer's petty, but he knows she's difficult to impress. "She's one of a kind."

"I'll stay out of your way, okay?" Spencer proposes. "I promise."

And that's when he feels it. This conversation is beginning to suffocate him, as is the mere idea of her staying put in Rosewood forever. Because he physically had to fight the urge to tell her staying out of his way wouldn't be necessary, that they could figure this out, that they could actually give this whole 'friends' thing a try. This is a conversation they should have never had to have; he should have proposed to Yvonne when he had the chance and not let leftover, cast aside feelings that he hadn't thought of in _years_ get the best of him. It's because she's here, in Rosewood, standing in front of him with that look upon her face, and in desperation, he asks if she'll be returning to D.C. She nods her answer; they want her back as soon as they know the fate of her mother's election. This answer should appease him but it only brings him more uneasiness. He _needs_ her gone if he ever wants to have his life back again. But does he really _want_ her to go?

Do either of them really want to hear the answer to that question?

Toby pushes those thoughts from his head and heads over to Yvonne with a smile on his face. It wasn't strange.

But it is now.

* * *

VIII.

He's _livid_.

He's white-knuckling the steering wheel as he drives to the Hastings' house, easily doing fifteen over the speed limit and blowing through stop signs. Toby isn't sure he's _ever_ been this angry; his heart's pounding against the cage of his chest, his blood's racing with adrenaline through his veins, he's sure he'd have a coronary if the thought of hearing the truth from the horse's mouth wasn't keeping him alive. He pounds on the back door and Spencer answers, the truth all over her face, and for just a second, his anger turns into disappointment. He rants endlessly about all the things he can't express to anyone else, how he was _sure_ he knew the kind of person Caleb was, and he can tell that Spencer doesn't know _what_ to believe, but she's trying desperately to calm him down. He fights to keep his voice even, but the thought of Yvonne being exposed to that kind of pain boils his blood. She's innocent; he'd expect this to happen to himself or to Caleb or any of the girls, but not her. She's never done _anything_ wrong. And he can't get Spencer to see that no matter how hard he tries.

And then he sees _him_. He's fucking _fuming_.

There's a half second's pause in which Toby's expecting Caleb to come up with an excuse and when he doesn't, Toby's hands are at his neck.

"I want to hear it from you!" He shouts and can barely register Spencer clawing at his body to attempt to pry them apart. "I want to hear it _from your mouth_ why you did this!"

"Toby, stop!" Spencer shouts and pushes her way in between them. "Caleb, _tell him!_ "

Caleb shrugs, unfazed, and this is what gets Toby, what pushes him over the edge. "I did what I had to do."

His fist collides with Caleb's face before he can even register what he's doing. Caleb crumples to the floor, blood bursting from his nose as Spencer's eyes widen and she exclaims in surprise. Toby regrets nothing. He wishes he did; he wishes he were still that person who believed violence is never the answer, but that person's long gone. His hand stings and he glances at both of them with disdain, shaking his head. Neither of the two people on the floor before him are people he recognizes; Caleb, for taking everything away from him, and Spencer, for allowing him to. She glances up at him and she's looking at him like she can't _possibly_ fathom what's just happened. And maybe they're finally on even ground now, because he hasn't recognized her since she's been back and at last, here he is, completely unrecognizable to her.

He ices his hand when he gets home and still, he regrets nothing.

He tries to pretend it had all been about Yvonne.

* * *

IX.

He's stirring coffee when Spencer arrives at The Brew and it nearly kills her.

 _Counterclockwise, counterclockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise, clockwise._

He looks like he'd rather run a marathon through the pits of hell than be here with her, but he sits down beside her anyway. Through a painful litany and against all her better judgment, Spencer tells him that Caleb is not to blame, that someone is back calling all of –A's old shots, and that unfortunately for Toby, Yvonne had merely been collateral damage. He looks slightly less irritated, but she doesn't expect there to be any more fishing trips in his and Caleb's future. In the silence that follows, Spencer begs her mouth to speak the words her brain is attempting to force out. She wants to apologize- she feels like she's always apologizing, these days- but for what, she cannot narrow it down. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to her. I'm sorry she got caught up in our mess. I'm sorry for ending things with you when I couldn't take the struggle. I'm sorry I didn't want the baby we almost had when you clearly did. I'm sorry I chose Caleb over you. I'm sorry I never have my shit together long enough to say any of this to your face_.

She doesn't get the chance. He asks, "How are you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," She nods and a lump forms in her throat and betrays her lie. "I just, um… I really couldn't have you thinking that I would ever judge Yvonne for making that choice."

He glances up, meets her eyes, because yeah, they're going _there_. Toby remains speechless as Spencer adds, "Not after… You and I… almost had to make that choice."

"Yeah," Toby manages to say softly. "I, uh… I gotta go."

Tears form in her eyes and she wishes he'd stay. She knows he can't. "How's Yvonne?"

"She's been amazing. Just really strong. I guess I have a type," He tells her and pretends he doesn't see as the tears fall from her eyes. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too."

She watches him go and only one thought races through her mind:

She and Yvonne have more in common than she'd previously thought.

* * *

X.

She cries and it nearly kills him.

"I just, um…" Spencer says and something about her voice lets him know she's on the verge of tears. It physically aches that this is something he recognizes. This has remained unchanged. "I really couldn't have you thinking that I would ever judge Yvonne for making that choice."

Toby frowns and is reminded of instant coffee, ticking time bombs, tears echoing off dorm room walls. "Not after… You and I… almost had to make that choice."

And there they are- two salty, porcelain tears raining down the soft contours of her cheeks. It takes everything in him not to swipe them away, collect her in his arms, remind her that nothing had been her fault. So much is swimming at the forefront of his brain, and he's still so, _so_ mind-numbingly angry with Caleb, but somehow, he can't stay mad at her. Maybe he should; maybe if he did, it would make this entire thing much easier to handle. But there's so much between them and so much left unsaid. He pleads with his mind to let it go, but his thoughts are racing with all the things he'll never tell her. _I'm sorry I didn't visit more often. I'm sorry I worked too late most nights to call you back. I'm sorry I didn't assure you enough that I loved you. I'm sorry I didn't make more of a case for having a baby. I'm sorry I didn't prove that we were going to be okay; I'm sorry I only told you. I'm sorry you felt like you were alone when I'd promised you wouldn't be. I'm sorry I couldn't be enough_.

If he stays, if he watches her cry any longer, he'll likely lose it, himself. So he tells her, "I gotta go."

And she nods, asks after Yvonne, and he can tell, in her own sorrow, she's being genuine. He wants so desperately to do _something_ , but he can't bring himself to. Instead, Toby insists, "Take care of yourself, okay?"

She nods and he hopes she does. He doesn't trust that Caleb will.

* * *

XI.

She tells him she loves him and he doesn't return the sentiment.

He shoots her half a smile, chuckles nervously, and shakes his head instead. Something flickers behind his eyes, like a soft wind teasing the flame of a candle, like he's searching in vain for an exit, like, in panic mode, he hits the big red button. _Emergency stop_. She lets him off the hook and he flees. She pretends not to notice the sigh of relief, the darting of his eyes, the beads of sweat, cold and nervous, upon his brow. She pretends until she cannot and it sticks with her as she gets dressed, talks with her father, and goes about her day. She's meeting with Toby and Caleb had acted all oddly possessive about it and she's never had that before and she can't say she'd enjoyed it. If he'd felt that strongly about her meeting with her ex, an ex that simultaneously is his best friend, surely he had _some_ feelings for her, right? Still, the way he'd acted upon her confession had brought all the feelings back, all the feelings she'd tried to ignore back when they'd first begun doing… well, whatever it is they're doing. She had, at the time, pushed her conscience aside and focused on how Caleb makes her feel, but now, she can't help but see how he _doesn't_.

He doesn't make her feel safe. He doesn't make her feel loved. He doesn't make her feel needed. He doesn't make her feel nurtured or important or intelligent. She'd told him she loved him and he'd responded with an empty vacancy she hadn't expected and she wonders _why_. Why had he reacted this way? Why had she told him she loved him in the first place? Why does she love him at all? It makes her question everything she's done over the past few weeks. She's likely destroyed the future of her friendship with all three of them; Caleb, Hanna and Toby alike. Why had she even gotten herself into this? It upsets her to think this way, but she wonders if the danger, if the knowing feeling that she was doing something wrong, is the whole reason she'd pursued Caleb in the first place. Spencer has always been expected to be straitlaced and perhaps, in a fit of defiance, she'd searched for someone or something that would make her forget this prim and proper version of herself. She wonders if she really loves him or she just loves the _idea_ of him, the danger surrounding their relationship, the aspect that most people, when they looked at the two of them, thought it was wrong. It replays on a loop in her brain; she tells him she loves him and he says nothing. She tells him she loves him and he doesn't repeat it.

She tells him she loves him and knows it's already over.

* * *

XII.

She's pretty sure she's drooling and she needs to get her life together.

Toby is sitting beside her, in glasses. Not only is he sitting beside her, in glasses, but he's sitting beside her, in glasses, _speaking French_. If this were four years ago, she would be on top of him by now. But it isn't. And even though she had told Caleb she loved him (and he hadn't said it back) and had been crushed upon the realization that maybe she and Caleb weren't as great together as she'd previously thought, she knows Toby and Yvonne still are. This is merely just old friends, reconnecting. He hasn't brought up the fact that the last time they spoke, she'd cried beside him and he'd awkwardly pretended not to notice, and she's grateful. Instead, they work out a plan to catch the new threat in the act and Spencer's trying _hard_ to forget he'd called her a good teacher and they're sleuthing just like old times.

When she brings them each a cup of coffee, his hands brush hers and she can almost see the sparks of electricity between them.

She can't concentrate. And four years ago, she wouldn't have been surprised; no one breaks her focus quite like Toby Cavanaugh, after all. But she doesn't know where this is coming from. A month ago, she barely knew him; everything they'd shared in the past had been nothing but a memory. But something about being back here, in Rosewood, fighting the same, tired fight she's been struggling with all her life, is bringing back some of the fonder memories she'd had here, as well. It still makes her uneasy that Toby's been roped into this all over again; it was the last thing she wanted, especially after learning he'd made a real name for himself and had moved on so expertly from her. That porcelain doll from years and years ago comes back to haunt her; _keep Toby safe!_ She wishes, more than anything, that she could.

"… that way, when we're down there, she won't be able to get back in."

This shocks her out of her own misery. "We?"

"Yeah," He says like it's obvious and, knowing him, it probably should've been. "I'm not going to let you do this alone."

She supposes an argument is futile, but she tries anyway. "I don't want to mess things up for you and Yvonne."

She means this with all of her heart and hopes Toby realizes it. He sighs and says, "I don't either, but if you want to find out what's in this room, we're going to do this together."

 _We're going to do this together_.

It aches. But it's a good ache.

* * *

XIII.

"It's a favor for a friend."

"So it's not some _thing_ you're taking care of, it's some _one_. Would her name be Spencer?"

He already feels incredibly guilty for this and she certainly isn't making it any better. Never in a million years had he expected the words _–A is back_ to come out of Spencer's mouth, but he supposes he should have, given her track record. And whether Yvonne likes it or not, this was every bit as much of his past as it was Spencer's. Sure, he doesn't _have_ to help her, but he knows what happens to any of the girls when they think they can take matters into their own hands and he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to them. It's the truth. It doesn't have anything to do anything else. And he has to believe this himself before he can convince Yvonne to believe it too.

"I don't want to lie to you, Yvonne, so please don't ask me again," Toby begs her and hopes she'll understand.

She doesn't. "Do you hear how that sounds? A month ago we were having conversations about building a future together. And now you can't even answer a simple question."

"I know," Toby replies. "I'm sorry."

And he is, really, because he loves this girl _so_ much and he appreciates the bright ray of sunshine she is on his otherwise very dull life. She'd come to him when he'd least expected it and had helped him move past his heartbreak in a time when he'd desperately needed it. Just weeks ago, they were planning for the future, it's true; the house he'd been keeping secret from her to become their home, the wedding of their dreams after he finally worked up the courage to propose to her, and children they would have that would bear his name and all her features. But now, he can still see everything they'd talked about like a photograph, but it's blurry in the center, fuzzy around the edges. It's no secret she still sees this clear as day, but Toby's not so sure anymore. His own words come back to haunt him; _when we're picturing our future together, we're not looking at the same picture anymore_.

Before he can make things right, Yvonne stands to leave. "I have to get back to work."

"Yvonne, wait, I-"

"I won't let you turn me into the woman who says pick me, not her," Yvonne vows and it sticks with Toby all night.

Once upon a time, Toby ruined his relationship and lost the love of his life.

Once upon a time, history repeated itself.

* * *

XIV.

"I can do it."

"You remember how to use a power saw?"

"I had a good teacher."

She yanks the cord, powers up the saw and shoots him a smile. Toby grins back and watches a while as she makes a clean slice right through the plywood, with perfect form, just as he'd instructed. Something about this small action means everything in the world to him. He can't quite place a finger on it just yet, but she completes her task in record time as he's still staring and hasn't begun his. She glances at him, shoots him a strange sort of smile, and he shrugs; he could write an essay on the millions of feelings he's repressed for Spencer Hastings, but he's sure he doesn't need to. They're probably all over his face. After a beat, there's a clanking sound from down the hall and Spencer nods towards the far wall, a light bouncing. He should have expected this; danger and destruction follow everything they do, after all. He whips his gun from the waistband of his jeans and Spencer's eyes are saucers immediately upon the sight of it.

"Oh my God," She whispers harshly. "You brought your _gun?_ "

"Get behind me," He orders and she does, no questions asked.

She still trusts him with her life and he doesn't quite know how to take this.

* * *

XV.

"Can I have your attention please? Quiet down, everyone," Her father announces and the room silences for a moment. "I would like to introduce you to your new state senator, Veronica Hastings!"

The crowd erupts in cheers and applause and her mother has never looked happier. Spencer beams and beside her, Toby offers, "Hey. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Spencer replies sincerely and has to fight the urge to ask him why he's with her and not with Yvonne. Her mother had won, yes, but this only means that Yvonne's had not. "I really cannot thank you enough for all the help you gave me tonight."

But before he can reply, her phone jingles and Aria lets her in on the devastating news and she's out of there before she can blink. She doesn't expect him to follow, but she's glad when he does. Mona's on their tail and if she cared in the least bit, she'd do something about it, but they arrive on scene and there's nothing more to be said. Caleb jumps to his feet when she arrives and she tries very hard not to think of the events that had transpired between them while her subconscious pushes them forward ( _you told him you loved him, he didn't say it back, he didn't say anything, he walked away_ ). He collects her in a hug for just a moment, not even long enough for her to register it as an embrace, before he's shoving her at arms length away from him, anger and venom in his words.

"Why the _hell_ did you bring her here?" He screams and she just stares at him in suspended shock because A- she has _no_ idea what he's talking about and B- he's never yelled at her before.

"No, no, no," Toby's quick to assure, quick to smooth things over. "We didn't."

"I followed them," Mona rolls her eyes and all's right again.

Except, it isn't, not really. Hanna's gone and they have _no_ idea where she is or who took her and Caleb had _screamed_ at her for no apparent reason. Spencer tries to pull her attention back to the situation at hand, back on her best friend who's missing, back on literally _anything_ else, but she can't. She feels like a child being scolded, she feels like she's been humiliated in front of everyone she knows, she feels like she's been beaten down when she already wasn't in the best place to begin with. She glances at Caleb and he won't even look at her. It hurts. It hurts and she doesn't _what_ she possibly did that could make him so angry with her, but if she had any hope she was going to get that 'I love you' returned, it's gone by the wayside, now. Aria glances at her and glances away, secondhand embarrassment all over her face. Mona does the same. The others try to pretend it hadn't happened. Spencer remains silent, her open wound bleeding with no one to staunch it.

Finally she chances a look at Toby and regrets it when she does.

He's got a mixture of confusion and resentment and sympathy on his face. When she dares to meet his eyes, he conveys, _I'm sorry. It's going to be all right_.

And maybe it's all in her head, but she also sees, _I would never have yelled at you like that_.

Maybe she imagines this. Maybe it's in her head.

But that doesn't make it any less true.


	2. Part Two

**Still with me? Then on to part two...**

* * *

Part Two

 _one must be one  
to ever be two_

 _and if you  
were a day  
I'd find a way_

 _to live  
through you_

 _\- Ben Kopel_

* * *

I.

She stops feeling sorry for herself because that's not who she is.

"Caleb," She exclaims loudly over the hum of activity everyone's engaging in. They're all working in overtime to try and locate Hanna but if she doesn't get this out, she's going to burst. "We need to talk."

Everyone's eyes are on her and they're burning holes, one by one, into her skin. Caleb glances at the computer, scanning vibrant green codes across a jet-black screen, and then back at her. "Now? Really? Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't," Spencer insists and the only gaze boring into her skull that she can sense is Toby's. "Please."

Caleb sighs, pushes back from the desk, and turns the laptop towards Ezra. "If anything comes up, come get me."

He follows her outside and she shivers a bit as the wind ruffles the trees, tousles the leaves, seduces goose bumps on her arms. Crossing them over her chest, Spencer doesn't even know where to begin. Luckily for her, he does. "Look, if this is about earlier-"

"What do you mean?" She asks even though his yelling still echoes in her ears.

"I'm sorry," He says. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I was frustrated and angry and worried and… I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Spencer purses her lips and nods. "Thank you."

Caleb nods and then turns for the door, but she stops him. "Wait, that's not… That isn't why I called you out here."

"Oh," Caleb frowns. "Then what is it? Whoever's got Hanna likely isn't treating her to a spa day."

"Look, about earlier," Spencer says. "When I told you I loved you-"

"Oh my God," He cuts her off. "Can we not do this right now? This isn't the time for-"

"Yes it is," She silences him. "Look… I wasn't expecting anything when I said it and if you don't feel the same way, then okay, but we need to figure out what we're doing before we go any fur-"

"I kissed Hanna."

And then it all unravels like a spool of yarn and Spencer understands. She wonders if this has been happening all along, behind her back, as a way for her friend to get back at her for dating the love of her life. She waits to feel betrayed, to feel angry, to feel upset, but none of these things ever come. Instead, all she feels is guilt and remorse and regret for ever allowing herself to be put in this situation in the first place. She doesn't hate him for this, although she probably should, and she doesn't hate Hanna; she's not sure she ever could. She's mostly just angry with herself for not seeing this coming from day one. Caleb sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as though this hadn't been the way he'd wanted her to find out and Spencer wonders if he'd wanted her to at all.

"I'm sorry," He says after a beat, when the moment no longer calls for it, when it's already too late. "But-"

"Don't," Spencer shakes her head. "Please, just don't."

He doesn't need to say it for her to hear it.

 _But I don't love you. I never did._

 _But it was always going to be her_.

They return back to the group and they work in silence.

Later, when she cries, she tells herself it's because she's worried about Hanna or that she's mourning the breakup or that she's thinking of her mother's illness.

It's been years. Not even she believes in her lies, anymore.

* * *

II.

He's going to make it up to her.

Toby goes home after a long, tireless day of searching endlessly for Hanna Marin with no results. He pulls off his clothes and crawls into bed to find a note from Yvonne, short and sweet: _Staying at my place for a few days. Call me! We need to talk_. Frowning deeply, Toby reaches for his phone and dials her number before even checking the clock at his bedside. It's 3 a.m.; likely, she's fast asleep, without a care in the world, save for her suddenly absentee boyfriend. He stays up a few more hours researching recipes and how to host a fancy dinner and watching videos online for meals he's never prepared before. If he does anything, he's going fix things with her, because he can't have her thinking she's less important to him than Spencer.

He can't have her thinking he's still got feelings for his ex.

The next day, he straightens up his apartment, sets the table with a freshly pressed tablecloth, actual plates and silverware and a bouquet of flowers. He has to call and beg her twice to come over before she concedes, but when she does, he takes her by the hand, covers her eyes and sits her down at the table before him, making her promise to keep her eyes closed as he puts all the finishing touches on their meal. She does as he's asked and comments on how nervous he's making her, but says nothing more. Toby pours them each a glass of wine, scoops pasta onto their plates and lights a candle in the middle, dimming the lights for added romance. And when he allows her to open her eyes, he's sitting before her, grinning, and that engagement ring is weighing down his jacket pocket.

"Wow," Yvonne says after a moment. "This is pretty incredible."

"I was hoping you'd like it," Toby smiles and nods towards her fork. "Eat up. It'll get cold."

She takes a bite, chews a bit, and then tells him, "This is a nice gesture, but this isn't going to solve everything, Toby. We need to talk about boundaries."

"Boundaries?" Toby implores. "What do you mean?"

She shoots him a look. "I'm talking about Spencer."

Toby sighs. "Don't worry about her. She's not a threat."

"The fact that you even have to say that means she is," Yvonne says. "Look, I like her a lot and I think it's really admirable that you two managed to stay friends, because clearly, she means a lot to you. But you and I were just starting to figure out where our future was headed and since she's been back, you've been _really_ distracted."

"Yeah," Toby agrees. "You're right. I know. I'm sorry."

Yvonne smiles, seemingly placated for now. "My grandparents are in town; the ones on my mom's side we never get to see. They wanted to be here for her since she lost and I thought maybe you could meet them."

Toby nods. "I'd love to."

"We've got dinner tomorrow night downtown," Yvonne suggests. "I thought that'd be a perfect time."

"I'm working," Toby laments. "Reschedule?"

"I can't reschedule that reservation. They've been holding it for months," She frowns in disappointment. "Maybe we could meet for a quick lunch? Or even coffee tomorrow morning, if that's okay with you."

Toby hesitates. "I'm kind of already supposed to do something tomorrow."

"Like what?"

He says nothing and Yvonne's mouth forms a line. "For Spencer? Again?"

"It's complicated."

"Yeah, so you've been saying, but you've still not said what _it_ is," She groans. "What is going on? What could she possibly need this much help with?"

"It isn't her, really, it's…" Toby shakes his head. "It's just something from the past coming back to haunt us. A friend of ours is in trouble and I need to help her before anything happens."

"A friend of yours I haven't met? How close can you possibly be?"

"Well, we were, back in the day," Toby says. "Just trust me, okay? And don't hate Spencer for this. It's not her fault."

Yvonne shakes her head and pushes back from the table. "Fine. I'm sure my grandparents will understand."

She reaches for her purse and yanks open the door to the apartment, stalking through and slamming it behind her. The engagement ring lies forgotten in his pocket and a piece of their future breaks off in his hands.

 _Strike one_.

* * *

III.

They find Hanna two days later, dehydrated and disoriented, in a dumpster behind the church.

It's like a scene from a movie; the new big bad sends them all kinds of action-thriller texts with clues to solve and they're careening all throughout Rosewood in a white van they'd borrowed in order to keep their computers tuned towards finding her. Caleb and Spencer studiously ignore one another and she wonders if this is what it'll be like from now on. Toby glances between the two of them and has no clue what's going on and she's not sure she'd like to tell him. He's never once judged her a day in her life and she knows he'll never make fun of her, but part of her wants him to. If anything, and after all she'd put him through, she deserves it.

Behind the church, they pull the van onto the grassy field that's becoming sodden and muddy with the onslaught of rain. Caleb yanks open the sliding door and hops out, splashing the van with muddy water and Emily too, as she leaps out behind him. Spencer glances up at the great bell tower where she'd almost lost her life and knows that if Hanna is here, if she'd also narrowly escaped death, then this, too, is another thing on the long list of things they'd shared. They traipse through the field towards the dumpster, toss open the hatch and begin to dig. There are trash bags piled high and Spencer wonders where they come from; surely, there isn't much waste coming from a church. At the bottom of the dumpster, there's a beaten up, battered casket and when they pry it open, Hanna's inside.

Emily and Aria reach her first and they collect her in a hug, pull off their coats, and cover her with them immediately. Her lips are blue and her pupils are dilated and her hair's wet and stringy, but she's alive. Caleb arrives next and Spencer doesn't watch, not because she won't but because she _can't_. Nothing will ever be the same among any of them and she should've known this would happen and it's a mantra she's been repeating for days on end. When Spencer gets her turn, she wraps an arm around her best friend but even in her haze, Hanna must remember what they've both done, because the hug she returns is forced and incomplete. They scoop her out, wrap her up, and take her to the hospital despite her protests. They have no idea what to expect next but they never expected radio silence.

Oddly enough, they never hear from –A again.

* * *

IV.

Hanna's released from the hospital the next day and Spencer goes to visit her.

They chew over how shitty the weather's been and what she remembers from her time in captivity- shockingly little, or perhaps unsurprisingly- and how strange it is that –A's been so silent before getting to the core of the apple. She wishes it didn't have to be this way, but she supposes it was always going to come down to this. Hanna runs a hand through her hair before glancing up and looking Spencer straight in the eye. It doesn't intimidate her. It does make her nostalgic for a time when boys didn't come between them and especially disappointed that they had allowed such a thing to happen at all. It's clear after a beat that Hanna isn't going to initiate the first move, so Spencer inhales a deep breath and jumps into the deep end.

"Caleb told me the two of you kissed."

Hanna nods slowly. "I had a feeling he might have."

And then, she stops. It turns out, she can't do this. This is her _best friend_. The last thing she wants is to lose her. Hanna sighs, "Spencer…"

"Just… Please don't say anything else," Spencer shakes her head. "It'll only make it worse."

"It just kind of happened."

"Hanna, _please_."

Hanna frowns and asks, accusatorily, "You're mad at _me_?"

She realizes the moment the blonde has spoken the words that she is. "Yeah, I'm furious. I'm so pissed off, I can't even _think_ straight. I'm mad at both of you, okay? I'm so, _so_ angry that you would do this to me."

"How about to me?" Hanna shoots back. "Any idea how mad _I_ am that you would do this to _me_ in the first place?"

"Hanna-"

"No, no, if you get to be mad, so do I!" Hanna exclaims. "Do you know what it feels like? Do you know how it feels to know that your best friend is dating your high school boyfriend? Your first love? The person you thought you'd end up with? Do you know how it feels to know that your high school boyfriend, your first love, the person you thought you'd end up with, is dating your _best friend_? Do you know what that feels like? Do you what betrayal even feels like, Spencer, or are you just feigning it to fit in, here? Because Caleb dates you and I get screwed. You date Caleb and I, still, get screwed! Do you know what it feels like? Do you know how much it _hurts?_ "

Spencer bites her lip to refrain from shouting. "Hanna, I-"

"No, you _don't_ know, Spencer," Hanna fumes. "The _only_ person who might understand how I feel is Toby. I have half a mind to go start making out with him and see how _you_ like it."

"Look, Hanna," Spencer retorts, her face hot with anger. "If you weren't okay with it-"

"Would that have stopped you?"

"Did it stop _you?_ " Spencer asks. "Because you seem to think this is my fault, but you're not exactly out of the wrong here, either. Need I remind you that you're still engaged to Jordan? How are you going to explain this to him? And why was it okay to kiss Caleb while he and I were still technically together? Because it was Caleb? Your high school boyfriend, your first love, the person you thought you'd end up with?"

"I'm not sorry!"

"Well you _should_ be!" Spencer exclaims. "Maybe he wasn't any of those things to me, but it still hurt!"

"Regardless of whether or not we hurt you," Hanna says. "What you did was wrong."

"And what you did was wrong," Spencer replies. "How are we any different?"

Hanna shrugs and says, "Because you started this."

"Yeah," Spencer sighs and stands, heading for the door. "And you ended it."

* * *

V.

She doesn't realize she's crying until he stops and looks at her, like his pain is her pain.

Somehow, she'd managed in the past three days not to go home. She'd crashed with Aria for the first night and Emily the next two. She'd easily stay right here, on the couch at The Brew, before she sets foot in her childhood home again. It's the stuff of nightmares and she realizes for a place that's supposed to be her sanctuary, it had really only ever been anything but. She's staring at her coffee instead of drinking it because _how_ had she managed to royally fuck up this much? If only she could turn back the hands of time, she thinks bitterly, the moment she sees Toby set foot in the little coffee shop. There's so much she would change. This is the thought that must set her tears free, for he takes his order to the couch she's seated upon and regards her with concern.

"Small town," She offers in greeting and it tastes bitter on her tongue. "We're bound to run into each other, you know?"

If he recognizes his words from earlier on this week, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he asks, "What's wrong? Why are you so upset?"

"If you hadn't heard it through the grapevine, Caleb and I are done," She sighs. "And I talked to Hanna. Turns out, she wasn't as okay with it as she'd previously stated."

Toby looks genuinely sincere when he says, "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be," Spencer shrugs. "It's made me question a _lot_ that's happened lately and a lot about myself. I don't… even think I know who I am anymore."

Toby frowns and glances at his own coffee as she asks, "Caleb said he talked to you, but… Were _you_ okay with it?"

"I mean…" He trails off. "I didn't _love_ the idea. But if you made each other happy, then… Why would I stand in the way of that?"

Spencer searches his face for any sign that he doesn't mean his words, but as usual, Toby Cavanaugh is a saint. She quietly admits, "They kissed. Caleb and Hanna? A few days ago."

His eyes widen. "What? Why? Why would they do that to you?"

And it blows her mind, at first, because he's the first person who hasn't blamed her. She shoots him a wry grin. "What's that you were saying about habits?"

Toby shakes his head. "I'm _so_ sorry. Really."

"No, I should've seen it coming," Spencer says. "I mean… We did it to you guys first."

"That was different."

"It wasn't," Spencer disagrees. "Toby, I know you're just being nice, but no, it's not."

"Fine, it isn't. But what is this, then? Preschool?" Toby asks. "If you hit her, she has to hit you back?"

This simultaneously makes her chuckle and brings tears to her eyes. "God. I'm so stupid."

"You aren't, Spencer. He is."

Spencer searches his eyes and for what, she's not really sure. And she has no idea why she's telling him this, but a moment later, she blurts out, "I told him I loved him."

And then it's there, out in the open, and Toby's face changes with a myriad of different emotions, like a kaleidoscope. Then, he asks, "Do you?"

It's the only thing she's been thinking of for the past seventy-two hours. She still hasn't come up with an answer. "I thought maybe I did. I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything for certain, anymore."

Toby nods. "Well… Did he say it back? Do you think he loves you?"

Spencer admits, "No."

He doesn't ask to which question she's referring.

To her, it doesn't matter; the answer remains the same.

* * *

VI.

He spots Caleb as he's climbing out of his squad car and immediately, his mood turns sour.

Slamming the door shut, Toby takes a few steps towards the police station and Caleb's standing there, awaiting him. It's in this moment that Toby realizes if he never talks to this guy again, it'll be too soon. All his anger, all his frustration, all his disappointment and resentment, come flooding back and Toby likes to think he's fairly understanding, but he's not sure there's _anything_ Caleb can say that will right all the incredible wrongs he's done. This is a guy he'd thought of as a close friend, someone he could confide in and commiserate with and most of all, someone he could _trust_. And everything had gone out the window the minute the confession was forced from his lips; _it's Spencer_.

Toby's got to give him _some_ credit; he's here, holding his ground, with all the confidence of someone who hasn't just screwed his best friend six ways from Sunday. "Toby."

Toby merely nods in greeting, eyeing the doors to the station. "I'm working."

"I know. I'll make it quick," Caleb sighs. "Have you talked to Spencer?"

"Why?" Toby asks. "Did you come here to tell me she's got it all wrong? That the person who did what they did to her isn't the same person who's standing in front of me?"

Caleb frowns. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"Yeah, see, that's what I'm still trying to figure out," Toby says. "So maybe you can help me get this straight. She tells you she loves you… and your response is to go and kiss Hanna instead?"

Caleb shakes his head. "That isn't any of your business."

Toby disagrees. "Unfortunately, you made it my business."

He turns to go, sure he's got his emotions in check, but they disentangle at the drop of a hat. Caleb reaches for his arm to try and stop him and in a split second, Toby reacts. They both expect it, this time; his fist doesn't sting after it collides with Caleb's face, this time, but he still goes down like a sack of potatoes, a bruise already forming. He's split his lip, and when he glances up at Toby, blood seeps in between his teeth and he looks like a jack-o'-lantern on November third. Toby shakes out his fingers and waits for the guilt and regret to sink in, but they never come. He wonders when he became this way; when along the way had his conscience abandoned ship? He had never wished pain on others; he had never _inflicted_ pain on others. And yet, here he is, enjoying both.

Caleb winces, touching his lip, and hisses, "This is becoming a recurring theme with you, isn't it?"

"You don't deserve her," Toby says instead and doesn't wait for Caleb to ask the inevitable question. "Either of them."

* * *

VII.

She loves Emily and Aria to death and would do absolutely anything for them; she'd lay down her life. But it's Hanna who really understands.

It's a realization she comes to while avoiding going home for the fourth day in a row. In their adolescence, when she'd followed her heart instead of her head and fallen in love with Toby, something had sparked deep within her, had unlocked the deepest, darkest parts of her soul, and she truly had been changed for the better. She'd been lucky enough to have him throughout the remainder of her high school years, when she was trudging through the pits of hell and battling demons, both real and imagined. She isn't naïve or too proud to admit it; he's the one who had gotten her through, who had kept her sane, who had managed to encourage her to keep fighting and that one day, she really would see the other side. The others hadn't had that, the others wouldn't understand; but Hanna would.

She recognizes she's the last person who should ever be judging _anyone_ and so she could never blame Aria or Emily for their lack of romantic stability, but this doesn't make the matter any less true. Emily had enjoyed playing the field, dating multiple girls and falling for each of them, and hurting deeply when it didn't work out, that underlying love for their ringleader always getting in the way. Aria, on the other hand, was in love with _being_ in love and she fell hard and fast for many different paramours (Ezra and Noel and Jason and Ezra again and Riley and Jake and Ezra _again_ ) and came out with her head spinning. And try as she might, Spencer couldn't connect with them, couldn't make them _understand_ , when she and Toby went through a rough patch or overcame a relationship milestone or when he'd made a deal with the devil and she thought she'd lost him forever. But Hanna did and Spencer knows why. Hanna had had Caleb and Caleb was her own kind of Toby.

It horrifies her to think of Hanna and Toby dating, Hanna and Toby holding hands and kissing, Hanna and Toby making love. And this is what her conscience had been _trying_ to get her to wake up and see from the moment she and Caleb had started dating; this is exactly what she'd forced herself to ignore. In the simplest manner, she'd basically broken girl code; it's a truth universally acknowledged that the number one way to ruin a friendship is date the girl's ex and what had Spencer done? Exactly that. She wonders when they had ever grown so far apart that they could even allow such a meaningless thing as a boy to come between them. This isn't something she could have ever foreseen; it isn't something they would have allowed as adolescents, and they're adults now. Aren't they supposed to be more mature? Shouldn't they _know_ better by now?

It makes her so incredibly sad. She seeks Hanna out and ends up finding her at the boutique beside the Apple Rose Grille; small town, and all that. She's nodding along with something the storeowner is telling her and then she pulls up something on her phone. Perhaps one of her buyers is looking to branch out, Spencer considers, and then chuckles because if anything, Rosewood is the _opposite_ of branching out. She draws in a deep breath and steps a bit closer, so she'll be the first thing Hanna sees when the blonde looks up. When she does, her face goes from pleasant to neutral and she asks the storeowner, "Could you give me a moment, please?"

The woman nods and ducks away and Hanna asks, "What?"

"I didn't come here to start anything, I promise," Spencer begins, white flag waving. "I came here to apologize and… to talk to you."

"You're going to have to make it quick," Hanna shakes her head, a bustle with activity. "I have a conference call in twenty minutes."

"I'm sorry," Spencer says, as good a start as any. "What I did was… so, _so_ horrible and it shouldn't have happened. And I totally regret it. And if I could take it back, I would, because you're one of my best friends and you're one of the most important people in the _world_ to me and… I can't bear the thought of you and I not being friends. I love you. I do. And… I know I probably ruined things between us forever and that there isn't a chance that we can go back or forget this whole thing, but… I just wanted you to know how sorry I am. I wanted to make sure it was said."

Hanna remains quiet for a moment after her confession, taking it all in, before saying, "Thank you. You're right; we can't forget this. When I look at him- when I look at _you_ \- I can't stop seeing the two of you together. And that's probably not going to go away."

Spencer nods and glances at the floor. "It's all my fault."

"No it isn't," Hanna disagrees and at this, Spencer meets her eyes. "It takes two to salsa, right?"

"It's tango," Spencer corrects automatically. Old habits, right? "But, no, yeah, I guess so."

"And if you're apologizing, I need to, too," Hanna exhales. "What I did was just as wrong. I knew you two were still… And then there's Jordan and… Part of me really, _really_ wanted to forget everything that was happening and get lost in the moment. Part of me _really_ wanted that kiss. But part of me also wanted to get back at you; to _hurt_ you. And… I'm so, _so_ sorry, Spencer. Because you're one of my best friends, too. You're so important to me and I love you, too. I didn't think that… I didn't think that this would ever happen and maybe that's why it messed me up so much. I shouldn't have told you I was okay with it."

"I shouldn't have done it anyway," Spencer says. "Because I knew you weren't."

"You know, back in the day," Hanna says wistfully. "I used to think the four of us would stay really close. Like we could go on double dates and family vacations together and our kids would be friends. We'd be each other's kids' godparents, you know?"

Spencer smiles contritely and her heart aches. "That sounds nice."

"Yeah, it might have been," Hanna nods. "But times changed and people changed and… Well, none of us ended up with the people we thought, right?"

Spencer replies, after a beat, "I'm sorry I did this to you."

"I'm sorry I did this to _you_." Hanna says and inhales quickly, attempting to change the subject. "You know, the common denominator here is Caleb. Any chance we can blame this whole thing on him and move on? Start over?"

Spencer chuckles, but finds herself shaking her head. "I'd like to, but… We both know all three of us are to blame. And… And you're still in love with him."

"Yeah," Hanna glances away. "I guess I am."

"We did this to each other," Spencer sighs. "And now we have to live with it."

Hanna nods slowly. "You're right. As usual."

"Believe me, I'm not always right. Not even half of the time," Spencer assures her and then asks, hopeful, "Can we still be friends?"

"Yes, please," Hanna nods and reaches forward, collecting her in a hug. It doesn't feel as forced as their last embrace, but still only has about half the warmth as usual. "Will it ever be the same?"

"I'm not sure," Spencer tells her honestly. "But something is better than nothing."

The look Hanna gives her isn't entirely happy but it isn't entirely sad either and Spencer's always known she isn't very good at maintaining relationships.

But she's quite good at destroying them.

* * *

VIII.

When he finds her, she's got her hands around the neck of a beer bottle and she's wincing with every swig she takes. He doesn't know how many she's had, but her hands are shaking.

"I'm going to go away for a really long time," She announces and this surprises Toby just as much as it had the last time she'd told him.

"You are?"

"Why not?" Spencer shrugs and tosses the empty bottle aside. Turns out, this is her only one. "My mom won. I lost a boyfriend, a best friend, my dignity… Hell, I might never come back."

And this is a conversation they've had before; _you're taking me with you and we're never coming back_. He clears his throat and attempts to forget. "That's what you wanted, once. That's what you did. And yet… Here you are."

"Yeah, well," Spencer frowns and doesn't look at him when she says, "I can't keep making an ass of myself in Rosewood. I can't keep running around, chasing tips, like I'm sixteen again. I can't. I can't do it."

"You don't have to leave," Toby tells her and she scoffs.

"I can't stay," She shakes her head, her eyes skyward. "I'm not going back to that barn."

Toby's skeptical. "You think Caleb's dumb enough to go back there? After everything?"

"I'm not sticking around to find out."

There it is, the opportunity, right there in front of him, and he's at war with his conscience when his brain makes up its mind. "You could stay with me."

"Yeah. _Right_ ," Spencer spews sarcastically and this, right here, is the girl he'd known and loved. "Yvonne would _love_ that."

Toby frowns and glances at his hands. They've begun to shake in time with hers. "We're… We're not exactly seeing eye to eye, these days."

Spencer's eyes widen and he can see sorrow and guilt and sympathy all rolled into that deep cinnamon hue. "Because of me?"

"No," He assures her, a small shake of the head. "Because of _me_."

And it's true, really. It isn't Spencer's fault he and Yvonne are fighting like the cat and the canary, these days. He can't seem to commit to anything she asks him to anymore; in fact, just this morning she'd asked his opinion on the shoes she might wear to dinner tonight and- _shit_. He glances at his watch and notes it's well past the time he told her he'd be there and swears under his breath. It's the last night her grandparents are in town and somehow, he'd managed to avoid meeting them, though not on purpose. He'd been working or he'd been with Spencer and suddenly, he feels like a failure, like the worst person in the world, like the disappointment his own family has always pictured upon the mention of his name. He glances once more at his watch and then forgets completely, because Spencer's looking at him with the tiniest bit of hope in her eyes and she might just take him up on his offer.

"Just a night," She promises. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You wouldn't be," Toby insists. "Really."

"I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can be," Spencer considers. "I'm going back to D.C. on Saturday."

He ignores the twinge his heart gives and simply nods. "It's no trouble."

"And you're _sure_ Yvonne wouldn't mind?"

"She knows we're friends," Toby says. "I don't think she'd mind me helping out a friend."

Spencer's eyes lock on his, unchanging. "You said yourself it was easier to be my friend when I was in D.C."

"Well," Toby says. "We've never tried up here, have we?"

* * *

IX.

He's over an hour late to dinner and he's never been this person and he can't say he's crazy about the new him.

He runs into Yvonne's parents leaving the restaurant just as he's entering. Apologizing profusely, he asks for the moment to meet her grandparents, but they've already gotten into a cab and it's stopped just down the street. They tell him Yvonne's waiting inside; she hasn't eaten. She'd been waiting for him. He's the worst boyfriend on the planet and he's _sure_ she's going to dump him. Honestly, at this point, he wouldn't blame her. He finds her in the corner of the restaurant, picking at mashed potatoes with her fork, and when she spots him her eyes narrow. She doesn't say a word when he sits beside her and he tries not to notice the four other plates, dirty with eaten meals and glasses with ice, drinks drained. After a moment, the silence becomes unbearable and if she's going to ream him out, he'd like her to get it over with.

"Yvonne, I'm so-"

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" She spits back. "It was easy enough to explain away a few minutes, but when _hours_ go by and there's no response, Toby? I thought you were in trouble. I thought you were injured on the job. I thought maybe you'd been _killed_."

"I'm sorry," Toby repeats. "I should've at least told you where I was."

"Yeah, you think?" She replies. "Where were you?"

He hesitates and offers her, "I was at work and I was on my way here, but I was already running a little late. I was on desk and I had a few cases that were just taking a little longer than usual… And then I ran into a friend and we got to talking and-"

"And I can figure out the rest," Yvonne crosses her arms over her chest. "Spencer's a lot needier than I'd taken her for."

Toby shakes his head. "It's not like that."

"It's not?" Yvonne asks. "Look, I'll say it again. I'm never going to pull a _Friends_ ultimatum, okay? I'm never going to tell you that to be with me, you can't speak to her. I get that you have your own life; I have one, too. But we also have a life _together_ … Or at least, I thought we did."

"We do," Toby assures her. "I'm sorry I was late and I'm sorry I missed your grandparents. I'm sorry I screwed up, but… I think you're making this a bit of a bigger deal than it actually is."

Yvonne stares at him a moment, refusing to break his gaze. "And I think you're still in love with her."

"I'm not," Toby replies involuntarily and his mouth his dry, his heart in his throat. And then he falls into a daydream of how the situation should probably go-

 _I'm not in love with her, he insists, I haven't been in love with her in years. I'm in love with you, only you, wonderful you, and I'd like you for the rest of my life. The rest of my life, she asks, and her face flushes crimson as she realizes exactly what this means. And he reaches for her hands, makes a grand, sweeping declaration of love before standing and kneeling before her, producing the soft velvet box from his pocket. And the engagement ring sparkles in the light above the table and he slips the ring on her finger and asks for her to be his forevermore. And she says yes, yes, a million times yes, and when they kiss, he can't tell if the tears are hers or his on his face. And the whole restaurant explodes in applause and their waiter brings them cake and champagne and he's so lucky, because he gets her for the rest of his life_.

But it doesn't go like this.

Instead, he repeats, "I'm not. I'm not in love with her."

And Yvonne says, "Could've fooled me."

"I _am not_ ," He tells her and asks, "Are you going to eat something? You must be starving."

She shakes her head. "Let's just go."

And he wants to repeat it over and over again, but he knows it's no use. Who is he convincing, anyway? Sure as hell isn't Yvonne.

Sure as hell isn't himself, and the engagement ring goes back to the jeweler's the very next day.

 _Strike two_.

* * *

X.

There is absolutely nothing in Toby's apartment that she recognizes from the loft.

He doesn't follow her home and she feels out of place the moment she steps inside, but her curiosity gets the best of her and she begins to snoop. She gets up from the couch (because he'd told her she could have the bed and he'd take the couch, but that was _way_ too weird for her, and she'd insisted against it) and begins to sneak around, feeling devious and looking for just _one_ piece of evidence of the Toby she had once loved, one thing she might recollect. There is, unfortunately for her, virtually nothing. He's got a stack of architecture magazines on his coffee table, pencils and rulers and protractors on his desk and precisely three photographs- one of him and Yvonne in front of the Eiffel Tower, one of him and Yvonne with arms around one another and identical smiles on both their faces, and one of him and his mother when he couldn't have been older than two, all chubby-cheeked and curly-haired. This one gets to her; love is pouring from the woman's eyes and Marion's smile is so bright, Spencer wonders what had come along to take it all away.

She can't sleep and it isn't for lack of trying. The couch is perfectly comfy and if she cranes her neck just right, she can watch the cars rush by on the highway, the watery hues of red and green her own kind of lullaby. But her mind is racing and she cannot quiet the noise; it's something she'd grown accustomed to in her adolescence, but something she hadn't fought with since then. She heads quietly into Toby's kitchen and begins to brew a pot of coffee. It's almost three a.m. and though coffee won't help her sleep- in fact, it will do precisely the opposite- it will be something familiar in this foreign apartment belonging to a foreign man. Pulling open a drawer adjacent to the sink, searching for a spoon, she instead comes upon what must be Toby's junk drawer, filled to the brim with old receipts and pens and odds and ends. But something familiar catches her eye; in fact, it's the only thing she's recognized since setting foot in this apartment hours ago. She reaches for it and brings it into the pale moonlight, a gold chain with something very heavy hanging from the end of it. She doesn't need to open it; she's memorized its message, engraved upon her heart just as it's engraved in gold.

 _You are my once upon a time._

Tears fill her eyes and her heart aches and _oh God, he'd kept it, he'd kept it all these years_ , and she doesn't know why she's surprised- she can tell you exactly where the Scrabble necklace and the rocking chair are, too- but she is, she is, because they're two completely different people now, people their teenage selves would not even recognize. And before she can fall apart at the seams, there's a sound in the hallway and keys in the door, steps over the threshold, and she drops the pocket watch as if it's burned her with memories of the past and slams the drawer shut. She can't bring it up, or maybe she won't. She finds a spoon, instead, and pours herself a second cup. He trudges in a beat later, exhaustion on his face but not in his eyes, and it's been years, but his eyes still soften upon the sight of her.

"And here I was worried about waking you up," He says and she smirks the tiniest bit.

"I couldn't sleep."

"And coffee was the way to solve that?"

"Hey, you know me. Coffee solves everything," Spencer tells him and he nods, a small smile on his face. "Where have you been at this time of night?"

That smile flickers and fades and she regrets her question. "Yvonne's."

"Are you guys okay?"

"I don't want to talk about her," Toby insists. "Why are you awake at this time of night?"

Spencer shakes her head. "I can't stop thinking of the mess I've made since I got back. And every time I try to fix something, I end up making it worse."

Toby nods like he understands, but Spencer honestly doesn't see how he could. He could never destroy something if he _tried_ ; it's not in his nature. She's the destructive one, not him. She's Wreck-It Ralph and he's Fix-It Felix; he creates and she demolishes. It's something she'd noticed years ago, when they'd first become something of an item and in time, it's only grown stronger. He'd gotten himself a degree and a career and a home-to-be all of his own; he's found someone to love and cherish and more importantly, someone who loves and cherishes him. And what had these four years gotten her? A job that runs her ragged and never pays enough, a degree that buried her in student loans and isn't getting her as far as she'd expected in life, a shit ton of guilt and remorse and regret from the people she'd stepped on along the way and the muddy, murky waters of relationships she'd tested- and annihilated.

After a moment, she asks, "Toby… Do you think I'm a good person?"

She's not really sure _why_ she asks, honestly. His opinion has always been one most valued to her, but she's sure she already knows the answer. _No, you're a mess_ , she expects him to say. _You repeatedly put yourself in these shitty circumstances and then act surprised when things fall apart_.

But that's not what he says. He looks at her like she's crazy for asking before saying, "Of course I do. You're one of the best people I know."

And this must be bullshit, or maybe she just needs it to be, because she's stuck feeling like the worst person on the planet and she needs him, arguably the _best_ person on the planet, to tell her she's right. But he doesn't. And she knows _he_ knows everything she's done in the past and he should hate her for it; he should hate her for dating Caleb and for coming back to Rosewood when she promised she wouldn't and for driving a wedge between him and Yvonne but he _doesn't hate her_ and she doesn't know why. And for a moment, he gives her the power to see herself from his perspective, and for that moment she _believes_ , but it's so fleeting and then it's gone, and she's back where she started. She's shaking her head before she can even fully understand what's just happened and then words are flying out of her mouth before she can stop them.

"Like _hell_ I am. I slept with my best friend's ex, who is not only my best friend's ex, but also my ex's best friend," Spencer says and she doesn't know why because it's still so fresh and it isn't like she needed to remind either of them this had happened. "I mean… What kind of person _does_ that? How can you still think I'm good?"

Toby shoots her one of his more heartbreaking looks, like he can't possibly grasp how she can feel this way about herself and it's hurting him that she does, before turning for his bedroom, without a word. And Spencer thinks this might just be it, she may have just broken him, but alas, he always comes back with something for her to mull over. He turns and, over his shoulder, speaks words she'd never expected. His voice is soft and smooth and melodic as honey and it melts her insides. _Old habits_.

"You asked me if you were a good person, Spence. You didn't ask me if you were perfect."

* * *

XI.

The last time he sees Caleb, he's stopping for coffee before work. He really needs to find a new coffee shop.

The Brew is packed and Toby wonders why until he sees one of the baristas frantically hanging the new menu with all of the new holiday offerings. He might have completely forgotten that December's rolled in if it hadn't been for the teenage hipsters ordering their peppermint mochas with extra whipped cream. He pays for his coffee, composes a quick text to Yvonne that goes unanswered and then steps aside to await his order being called. Beside him, a foot taps impatiently on the sticky linoleum and when Toby glances up, it belongs to Caleb, his lip puffy, his nose bruised. And here it is; all the guilt and remorse and regret he'd been awaiting have finally arrived. Glancing at the man's face and knowing he'd been the one to rough it up doesn't sit well with him and though he may have deserved it, deep down, Toby knows what he's done was wrong. Caleb seems to sense eyes on him, because in a moment, their eyes connect.

He groans. "Come back for another shot? You haven't gotten either of my eyes yet. Go ahead; third time's the charm."

Toby frowns. "I'm good."

"You sure? You don't want to settle the score?" Caleb replies bitterly. "I know what I did was wrong, okay, but… Look, Toby-"

"No, _you_ look," Toby turns on him, rage coming back to greet him like an old friend. "I… I wouldn't have given you my blessing if I'd known you were going to turn around and hurt her like this."

"It wasn't my intention."

"Yeah? And what was?"

Caleb says nothing and tension brims between them, boiling hot. Toby shakes his head. "Guys have been after her since… God, I don't know. As long as I can remember. Probably her whole life. But you… _You_ were supposed to be different. You were supposed to care about her."

"Toby?" The barista calls out and he nods politely in her direction, receiving his order.

"I did," Caleb insists and Toby can't even find an ounce of the friend he'd once had in him.

"Past tense for you, maybe," He replies and walks away from Caleb forever. "Not for me."

* * *

XII.

"Do you think you and Yvonne will work things out?"

They're conversing over sandwiches when she proposes the question and Toby nearly chokes. "What?"

"I'm just curious," Spencer frowns. "I'd hate to be the reason you two fall apart. Seriously, Toby, you're so happy with her and I don't want to ruin anything."

Toby shakes his head. "I've told you already you have nothing to do with this."

"Right," She nods. "So she canceled meeting you for lunch today for no apparent reason? And you invited me instead because...?"

She has a point, there. Toby sighs, "It's just complicated, that's all."

"Then make it _un_ complicated," Spencer suggests. "Talk to her. Or stop talking to me. Or... _something_."

"Spence."

"I know, right?" She exhales, seeming to find some irony that he hasn't quite discovered yet. "Look at me, giving relationship advice. I'm sorry. It just kind of came out."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, we both know I'm the last person to be giving advice," She says. "In fact, whatever I said is probably wrong, so just-"

"I don't want to talk about her," Toby insists. "What about you? What do _you_ want?"

"I want time to myself," Spencer admits a moment later. "Time to figure out who I am and what I'm doing and why... Why things never work out."

"Relationship-wise?"

"I guess," She sighs. "I really always thought that I'd be the kind of girl who didn't need one to define me, you know? That I'd be the kind of strong, successful woman who would do just fine all on her own, and any guy who stood in my way would get knocked down real quick. But then... After you, I just... You gave me _so_ much for so long and when I lost it... Instead of finding it in myself, I tried to find it in other guys. Over and over again, I tried, and over and over again, I couldn't. Somewhere inside, I still believe it- that I don't need a man. That I can do anything; that I can do it all by myself."

"I believe it, too," Toby tells her honestly. "I _know_ Spencer Hastings and believe me, Spencer Hastings don't need no man."

She chuckles and he grins, too, assuring her, "I know it as well as anyone. You're the strongest woman I know, hands down."

Her smile falters just a bit and she says, "Anyway, I think it'll be good for me. I can take some me time, focus on work. And really just… figure out why it is that I seem to gravitate towards situations that will ultimately destroy me."

Toby stops eating. He stops drinking. He's sure for a moment he's stopped breathing, because Spencer has been bashing herself for weeks over this whole returning to Rosewood, Caleb and Hanna, -A's back fiasco, and he'd assumed it would all blow over, eventually. But hearing her say the words out loud… well. It sets off warning bells, alerting him that she's not in a good place, mentally speaking. Her self-deprecating behavior is really beginning to take its toll on him. It physically hurts him that she believes these things about herself; she truly, in her heart of hearts, believes that there is something about her so unlovable, so downright _broken_ , that she genuinely deserves all the bad things that have happened to her in the recent past. An idea comes to him, then; if she won't listen to him when he insists she's the best person he knows, then he needs to find someone who can get through her impossibly thick skull.

"That's it," Toby announces suddenly and drops a couple of bills down on the table before them, standing and nodding towards his truck. "Get in the car."

"What?" Spencer asks, but stands and follows his lead. "What are you doing? Where are we going?"

"We're going to pay a visit to an old friend of mine."

* * *

XIII.

She's shaking in the waiting room and her name is called. When she rises, Toby rises, too.

"Spencer! Toby! It's _so_ good to see you again!" Dr. Sullivan greets them the moment they're behind her closed door. "I had to admit, I was very curious to see who needed a walk-in _immediately_ , but I'm so glad it's you!"

Spencer accepts the hug and then sinks into the couch. Toby replies sheepishly, "You'll have to excuse me. I sort of kidnapped her and brought her here against her will."

Dr. Sullivan chuckles. "Well, I do prefer if my clients come willingly, but I'm willing to listen, Spencer, if you're willing to talk."

Spencer shrugs and shoots a sidelong glance at Toby. "Talk about what?"

"Anything that you need to get off your chest," Dr. Sullivan states, but Spencer hears it as a question.

Toby is as calm and cool as a cucumber beside her and she's trying to find the will to be angry with him for this, but she can't. When they'd pulled into the parking lot and the realization had dawned on her just exactly _where_ they were, Toby had looked her dead in the eye and said, _I'm sorry, but you need this_. And now, sitting here in this room for the first time in years, Spencer realizes he's right. "Um, well… A lot's been happening lately. A lot of bad stuff and not a lot of good. And it's my fault, all of it."

Dr. Sullivan nods. "Anything in particular?"

 _More like everything_ , her conscience screams from deep within, so loud she's sure Dr. Sullivan has heard this. After a beat of silence, she tries a different approach. She reaches into her desk and produces a notepad, tearing a clean sheet of loose-leaf paper out of its confining spiral and then into strips. After, she hands Spencer a pencil and a handful of the strips of paper and says, "Here. Write it down. Write down each and every single thing you think you're responsible for; everything bad that's been happening, either to you or supposedly because of you. And when you're done, we'll put them in this."

She places a box on the table in front of Spencer then, a pencil case maybe, or a jewelry box; she isn't sure. Hesitant at first, Spencer eyes the strips of paper and the pencil before finally conceding. What would her refusal ultimately get her, anyway? She's here; she may as well play along. On the first slip of paper, she wonders what to write for just a moment before it comes to her; _-A's return_. She folds it in half and slips it into the box. And the dam's been tapped and it gets easier from there; she wonders if she'll run out of slips of paper with all that's been going on. _Returning to Rosewood. Exposing Yvonne. Ruining friendship with Hanna. Mom's cancer. Hurting Toby's relationship. Caleb._ When she can't think of anything else, she sets the pencil down and still feels like a horrible person.

"What now?"

Dr. Sullivan picks up the box and shakes it just a little, as if she's shuffling all of Spencer's misery. "Do you know why I had you write down all of these things? Or why we put them in the box?"

She shakes her head, lost. "No."

"Hmm," Dr. Sullivan nods and begins to explain. "Have you ever seen a dog that's been abused for years? He won't cower or react when he's stricken; he'll accept it, with a look of guilt on his face, like he knows it's coming. Like he's given up hope. And see… People are a lot like dogs, Spencer. You push them, hurt them, beat them or knock them around enough… They'll start thinking they did something to deserve it."

Spencer's heart is pounding and when she chances a glance at Toby, he's glancing at his hands, like he's hoping the doctor's words will take effect, like he's praying for a miracle.

"Okay," Dr. Sullivan says and hands her the box. "I want you to hold onto this and I want you to repeat after me: I do not deserve this."

Spencer does as she's asked, the box heavy in her hands. "I do not deserve this."

"Louder, Spencer," Dr. Sullivan instructs. "I want you to scream it."

"For how long?"

"Until it sinks in."

"I do not deserve this," Spencer says and swallows hard, her voice raising an octave. "I do not deserve this. I do not deserve this!"

It feels like a fight to the death with her brain, her rational logic, her anxiety, and only one of them will come out on the other side. _I do not deserve this_ , she finds herself exclaiming and Dr. Sullivan is grinning and nodding and Toby looks on with encouragement in his eyes. _I do not deserve this_ , she repeats and it means so much more than it originally had. _I do not deserve this_ she shouts at the mounting anxiety that had piled on upon her return to Rosewood. _I do not deserve this_ she yells at the jealousy and the envy and the possessiveness she'd felt upon the sight of Toby with an engagement ring that did not belong to her. _I do not deserve this_ she cries at the pain and fear and panic she'd experienced upon the realization that her strong, badass, resilient mother is once again fighting the disease that could easily take her away. _I do not deserve this_ she screams at the way Caleb had treated her and the way Hanna had scorned her. _I do not deserve this. I do not deserve this_.

She repeats it over and over and over until she believes it.

"Good," Dr. Sullivan smiles and takes the box from her, dumping all the slips of paper into the trash as Spencer watches them rain down like the saddest confetti she'd ever seen. "Are you ready for step two?"

Spencer nods and avoids Toby's gaze, suddenly feeling naked and raw. "What's step two?"

"Repeat after me," Dr. Sullivan instructs once more. "I deserve respect. I deserve happiness. I deserve love."

"I deserve respect," Spencer says and instantly the words begin to take effect. And she finds it so damn ironic that her pain was _so_ stubborn and difficult to rid herself of, but this… This takes like a second skin. "I deserve happiness. I deserve love."

She repeats it only once. It's all she needs.

"You know what?" Dr. Sullivan grins. "I think you've got it."

Spencer glances at Toby and he's looking at her in a way he hasn't in years.

And she does.

* * *

XIV.

They drive home in silence because he doesn't know what to say and she's already said so much.

"Thank you, Toby, for today," She says once he's unlocked the door and they've fallen over the threshold. "For doing all of this for me. It actually… It felt really good."

"Well, good," Toby nods and he's still mostly speechless. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

She smiles at him and turns away, beginning to pack some of her things back into the suitcase she'd brought. And this strikes him as odd- what had she heard in his tone that suggested he wanted her gone?- but then he remembers. It's Saturday; she's headed back to D.C. And he supposes this is a good thing; that they're both able to go back to the way things were before. She'll go back to taking the nation's capital by storm and the way she's going, she'll most likely be the first female president. And he'll go back to doing… whatever it is he'd been doing before she returned to Rosewood and came back into his life. He has flashes of the house and Yvonne and that forgotten engagement ring, but the picture is so far out of his reach and he doesn't care to grasp it.

"She said a lot of things I really needed to hear," Spencer says and Toby had almost forgotten all about the conversation he'd been zoning out on.

"Yeah, I, uh," He scratches the back of his neck and avoids looking her way. "I had a feeling you might say that."

"Yeah," Spencer chuckles. "You know who I am, right?"

"Yeah," Toby nods and suddenly, all the words come to him and he can't seem to get them out fast enough, can't seem to fully express the way he feels about her, as though an iron barrier is forced between them. But still, he tries. "And I know you've been doubting yourself your entire life, so I hope you know how much truth there is in her words. You deserve _everything_. Everything, Spencer. You deserve the world. You deserve so much more than what you're getting; so much more than what you're settling for."

And there it is, right there in between them, and he might as well have said those three little words, those eight letters, from the way she looks at him.

He realizes he basically has.

"Thank you," Spencer says finally and he lets out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you for saying that. I, uh… I gotta go."

"Yeah," Toby nods. "Yeah. Have a safe trip. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too," She smiles hastily and the hug she offers him is jilted and not long enough for either of their liking.

He doesn't know when he'll see her again, but he hopes to have his shit together when he does.

* * *

XV.

In the end, it all comes down to a simple question. And, in her own words, he can't even answer one of those.

"Do you love me?" Yvonne asks and there are tears in her eyes but none on her face. Her arms are curled protectively around her frame, as if she's warding him off, keeping him away.

And this, this he could have never prepared himself for. He scrubs a hand over his face and replies, "How can you even ask me that? Of _course_ I do. You know I do."

Yvonne glances at the floor. "I know you did."

Toby looks at her, registers the change, and asks, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Toby…" She trails off and inhales in an attempt to calm herself. "Do you love her?"

It hangs in the air between them and if he squints hard enough, he can see it. It's a simple question.

 _And now you can't even answer a simple question_.

"Yvonne," Toby says, but it's already too late. He's waited too long. "Listen-"

"No, that's okay," She shakes her head and the tears finally fall. "I already got my answer."

Toby sighs and pleads with her, "I just-"

"I said I wasn't going to let you turn me into one of those women," Yvonne says, putting an ocean of distance between them and swiping underneath her eyes. "And I won't. So I'm making the choice, not you. It's done. You're free."

She's at the door when he says, brokenly, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You know what?" She turns back, shaking her head. "Don't be."

 _Strike three. You're out._

* * *

XVI.

He's concentrating. He's focused. He's starting anew.

Sunday morning finds him back at the construction site of his very own home, standing idly by and glancing over the mess he's left behind. Gone are the dreams of moving in with Yvonne, of raising a family, of living out their days and growing old together as Rosewood continues to exist all around them. By now, he's sure word's gotten out of his breakup to her entire family and, he's sure, the rest of the press since her mother's in politics. If his father were still talking to him, Toby's sure he'd get the reprimand of a lifetime for this one, but he can't focus too much upon that. It's still too painful. For one blissful moment this morning, when he awoke, he'd forgotten all about the heartache of the evening prior. And then, he'd stepped out of bed and it all came back at once. Now, he focuses hard on his work because that's what _she'd_ do and he'll be damned if he lets this house fall under the category of things he's left unfinished. He's driven. He's determined. He's focused.

But nothing breaks his concentration quite like Spencer Hastings.

He glances up, brushes sawdust off of his goggles and it's just a little bit of history repeating. She's dragging a suitcase behind her and wearing the same clothes he'd seen her in the previous day. Exhaustion's in her eyes and he guesses she hadn't slept and hey, they're one in the same; he'd tossed and turned all night. But he doesn't understand what she's doing here; shouldn't she be in Washington by now, fighting for her place in government and taking what is rightfully hers? If she hates Rosewood as much as she claims, why does she inevitably end up right where she started each time she tries to break free? He pulls off his gloves and wipes his hands on his jeans, the goggles going next, as she steps a bit closer. Maybe she's more of a mess than he'd previously thought. Maybe she's almost as distraught and lost as he is.

"What are you doing here?" Toby asks and his voice is raw. "I thought you'd be in D.C. by now."

"I couldn't go," Spencer replies and glances at the frozen ground beneath her feet. "My flight got delayed; some freak snow storm over Baltimore. And it got delayed again and again and I thought… I don't know. Maybe it was a sign? Maybe I'm not meant to leave yet. And when it finally came time to board… I walked the other direction."

Toby nods and says, "So here you are again."

"Yeah," She exhales. "Here I am."

In the silence that follows, he watches as she tightens her grip on the handle of her suitcase, her knuckles turning white, and then releases it. After a moment, she confesses, "I quit my job this morning."

His eyes widen and he asks, "You did? Why? I thought you loved it."

"I can get another one," Spencer announces. "And I just thought maybe there were more important things. I'd like to be here for my mom, too, which would mean taking more time off and my boss was not a fan of that proposal."

"Be here for your mom?" Toby wonders in confusion. "What do you mean? The election's over. She's in office. She's kicking ass."

Spencer smiles, but there's something so supremely sad in it that makes Toby's heart ache. "She has cancer."

"Oh my God," He expresses and doesn't know what to do, what to _say_ , to make this better. "I'm so sorry. That's awful."

She shakes her head. "She doesn't know I know so if you see her, just… Please don't say anything."

"I won't. I promise."

She swipes under her eyes, warding off future tears from falling and steps closer to his table of blueprints, searching for a distraction. "It's really coming along."

"Yeah," Toby nods and glances towards the house in the close proximity. "I'd like to get the roof finished before it starts snowing."

"Are you waiting until it's finished?" Spencer asks next. "You know, to show Yvonne?"

He doesn't meet her eyes. "Actually, um… Yvonne and I… We kind of broke up last night."

"What?" She exclaims in genuine concern. "But you guys were so serious, I never thought… You were headed to the altar."

"Yeah. We were supposed to," Toby says. "Turns out, we were looking at different pictures."

 _When we're picturing our future together, we're not looking at the same picture anymore_.

She frowns and says, finally, "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, thanks. So am I."

"So what now?"

"Honestly, Spence," Toby shrugs. "I don't know."

He wishes like hell he did. He remembers when he had all the answers; or, at least, that's how it had appeared to Spencer. He could say the most futile, most spur of the moment things in order to make her feel better and somehow, it always worked. But he truly doesn't know what the future holds. In losing Yvonne, he'd lost _so_ much and somewhere, in the jumbled mess of emotions he's feeling, is the sense that everything will work out perfectly in the end. He's always been an optimist; he's always believed this to be true. But right now, shivering out here in the cold December wind, a disheveled shell of his former self, staring into the brilliant eyes of his ex-girlfriend whom he may or may not still have feelings for, he doesn't know it. He doesn't know what's going to happen next and perhaps he never has, but this has never truly terrified him as much as it is in this very moment.

"You know, when I first left," Spencer says and turns away from him, hopping up to sit upon the open flatbed of the truck. "And I went to D.C., I thought everything was going to be different. It was a brand new city, it was three times the size of Rosewood and I thought I would just get lost in the anonymity and the rush and all that. I thought I'd love it. And I did, eventually, but that didn't stop the paranoia or the anxiety from finding me. After we broke up… I slept with the lights on, for a while. I jumped every time I got a text. If I even got the slightest inkling that someone was following me home, I'd cross to the other side of the street. And it took me a long time to realize what was happening to me, but… You can leave Rosewood all you want, but it never truly leaves you."

Toby climbs onto the truck beside her and their legs are touching at the knee. It's forty degrees outside and she's still so incredibly warm. "Why did you come back?"

Spencer glances up and meets his eyes. "Which time?"

"This time," He tells her because he knows exactly why she'd returned weeks prior. _Alison. Charlotte. –A._

"Well," Spencer sighs. "I was going through security at the airport and I had already pushed my bag through and the TSA agent told me to step into the capsule. And it was one of those ones where you have to raise your arms over your head, you know? A full body scan? I watched the little bar scan me and there was a green light and then it started beeping. Loud, harsh, piercing beeping. And then I wasn't there anymore; I was in the dollhouse and there was blood on my hands and my shirt and this terrifying, tinny voice was in my head saying, _Choose one or all will suffer_. And when I opened my eyes again, I was sitting on the floor beside the agent and she was asking me if I was all right, if I was armed, if it was okay to pat me down. I forgot to take my phone out of my pocket; that's what beeped. But I reacted like… Like I was going to blow up that damn airport and my plans had been foiled. And so she patted me down and she looked at me like I was insane and told me I was free to go. And… You can take the girl out of Rosewood, but you can't take the Rosewood out of the girl."

Toby looks at her, searches her face for the answer to his question, and still doesn't find it. "You had a panic attack."

"Yeah," She says, glancing straight out in front of her. "And I guess… I guess I felt lost. I felt out of place. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't know what was happening. But when I thought about going back to D.C., it didn't bring me the kind of joy and anticipation that I was hoping for. And it's because… There is literally _nothing_ there for me. An empty apartment, an empty job with barely any benefits, an empty _life_. And it isn't what I set out for and it isn't what I want for myself."

"What do you want?"

"I don't know."

He waits a moment and asks again. "Why did you come back here?"

"Because," Spencer says and she can't look at him. "My anxiety over leaving and my panic attack at the airport and my realization that everything in D.C. is a waste of my time reminded me that, earlier that day, I had finally gotten some peace. I had done what Dr. Sullivan told me to do and I had actually felt _better_ about myself for the first time in years. And I never would have done that if it weren't for you and I guess… I guess I just realized that…"

Toby's staring at her, waiting on bated breath. "What?"

"I realized that, after all this time," Spencer exhales like this is the hardest thing she's ever had to admit. "You're still my safe place to land."

He says nothing, but he reaches for the hands she's toying with in her lap and they still. His fingers interlock with hers and he can see them clear as day. Sparks fly.

She glances up and meets his eyes and slowly but surely, a smile forms upon her lips.

Of all the things she could have said, this had not been what he'd expected.

Of all the things she could have said, he's glad it was this.


	3. Part Three

**And here's the end. Thank you so much, guys. I love you all.**

* * *

Part Three

 _I am yours as the summer air at evening is  
Possessed by the scent of linden blossoms,_

 _As the snowcap gleams with light  
Lent it by the brimming moon._

 _Without you I'd be an unleafed tree  
Blasted in a bleakness with no Spring._

 _Your love is the weather of my being.  
What is an island without the sea?_

 _\- Daniel Hoffman_

* * *

I.

"So what now?"

He asks her this question while still holding her hand and it has so many different connotations, it's making her head spin.

"I really don't know," Spencer finally sighs and truly, she doesn't. In fact, she can count on one hand, lately, the things she knows for certain. "I'm broke and homeless and jobless… Oh God, what am I doing? Am I just screwing my life up even further?"

Toby looks her dead in the eye. "I don't know. Are you?"

So she considers it, _really_ considers it, because she's run her life into the ground more times than she can count, but it hadn't felt like this. It had been cold and dark and foreign, it had launched her into a pit of anxiety and terror, it had bound her to the tracks of a train she hadn't been ready to board with decisions she'd regretted ever making in the first place. But this… This feels freeing. This feels like the first glimpse of spring after a long, snowy winter. This feels like opening the front door to bright, warm sunshine after weeks of rain. This feels like taking a deep gulp of fresh air after being submerged underwater. For the first time in what feels like forever, she has the opportunity to take the reigns and change the myriad of confusing circumstances surrounding her life. She recently told Toby she doesn't know who she is anymore. It's about time she's figured that out.

"No. No, I don't think so," Spencer replies. "I mean, things were really, _really_ messed up. I'm not sure how I could make them any worse."

"Hey," Toby warns. "Are you still talking shit about yourself? Do we need to go back to Dr. Sullivan's?"

"No," She chuckles. "But you have to admit, things were bad. And it took me a while to realize this, but… Being away from Rosewood really changed me. I carried everything that happened to me here with me when I went to D.C. and it turned me into someone I didn't even recognize; I didn't even _like_. And when I came back here… I was still that same, awful, unlikable person, doing things the old me would _never_ have done. I realized something was different but I didn't know how to change it and… This might be weird to admit, but being here, with you, is the most I've recognized myself in years."

"Well," Toby says after a beat and extricates his hand from hers, leaving a cool emptiness behind. "You're wrong, Spence."

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and asks, "I am?"

"First of all, you're not homeless," Toby tells her. "I told you that you could stay with me as long as you need to and that still stands."

She finds herself smiling. "Thanks."

"You might be jobless now, but you're Spencer Hastings," He then says. "That won't stay that way for long."

"I don't know…"

"And lastly, I know who you are," He replies sincerely and she has vivid déjà vu that won't disappear. "A few mistakes or bad decisions here and there haven't changed that."

And this, right here, is why she'd fallen in love with him in the first place. He's always seen the best in people, regardless of happenings that should cause him to feel the opposite. It's why he'd been able to forgive Alison for sending him away, for instigating years upon years of pain and torture, for exposing him so violently after he'd tried so desperately to remain hidden away. It's why he'd been able to have somewhat of a civil relationship with Jenna, standing his ground to remind her she'd never have that kind of power over him again. And it's why, even now, even after all this time, he can still look at her like she's the sun upon his darkest days, like she's the reason he'd been able to overcome all of his internalized demons, when she knows, truthfully, he'd found the strength from within. He's amazed her right from the start and she'd held onto him tightly ever since he'd come into her life, not wanting and not willing to ever part with him.

She doesn't remember letting go, but she must have; for here he is, sitting right beside her and still, just slightly out of reach.

"You're a saint, Toby Cavanaugh," Spencer says finally, because she's run out of confessions and she's run out of lies, so she's left with the truth, now. "You're a saint and don't let anyone tell you differently."

"Eh," Toby shakes his head, glancing away. "I'm really not."

" _Anyone_ ," Spencer repeats. "Not even you."

* * *

II.

He tries not to be captivated by her. Really, he tries.

He fails every time.

It's after midnight and she's sitting cross-legged on the couch, her laptop open upon her legs, the hazy glow of false lighting framing her face. She's typing furiously and he has no idea what she's doing, because it's late and like she'd previously said, she's jobless, but he mostly doesn't care. That look of hard work and determination is something he hasn't seen on her in a while; her Hastings game face is just as intimidating and entrancing as ever. After a moment, she glances up, meets his eyes and smirks, shaking her head, and he colors and glances away; he's been made. He simply can't help himself, though. There's something about the way Spencer works that has always intrigued him. Everything she does, she does with a purpose and everything, to her, is worth all the effort and fanfare. She's inspiring. She's so _incredibly_ inspiring and Toby wonders, just wonders, if she actually knows how much impact she's had on his adult life; how powerful her influence really is.

"I'm updating my resume," Spencer replies to his unasked question. "Will I sound too pompous if I put down my mom's campaign?"

"No," He shakes his head. "You were a really big help and she won. I think both of those things will look really good to future employers."

"I can't believe this is my life, now," Spencer says, her eyes not leaving her screen. "I used to think I'd leave college, have a successful job immediately upon graduation and then settle down and live out my days. Now, I'm pumping my resume with SAT words at 12:23 a.m. and applying for entry-level positions in my ex-boyfriend's apartment."

"Yeah," Toby sighs and still can't believe he's an ex twice over. "It's funny how things don't work out, isn't it?"

"It's funny how they do," She says. "Are you where _you_ expected to be?"

"No," He answers honestly and wonders if this is the first thing they've agreed upon in years. "I didn't expect to still be a cop; I didn't expect to end up actually _liking_ it. I didn't expect to get a degree… But I did expect it would do something for me. Well, I guess it kind of is."

"Toby, you have half a house because of it, right?" Spencer asks. "When I came back here and saw that's what you were doing… I don't know. I was just kind of surprised, that's all."

"What?" Toby wonders. "That I had the discipline to take on building a house?"

"No. I always knew you had it in you," She tells him, her eyes finding his over the glare of her computer screen. "I was just shocked it was in Rosewood. With everything that's happened… Well, I was on the first plane out of here and I always expected you'd do the same."

Toby frowns. He was wondering when they'd get to this topic. He'd told Emily recently that he likes this town and the tormented teenager in him had been screaming the opposite ever since. He does, actually. He likes what this town is now; he likes what Rosewood reminds him of. But he doesn't like what this town _was_ and perhaps this binary is what doesn't make sense to Spencer. He doesn't like that, once, you couldn't go a week without finding another dead body. He doesn't like that most of his colleagues are either bumbling or corrupt, or that many of the town's grounds had been used for unmarked graves, or that Rosewood has tried, in the past years, to place a bandage over the wounds and forget they'd ever happened. But his mother had wanted a small, quaint town to raise her son in and so this is where she and Daniel had lived. And this is where she will rest eternally, long after the end of his days.

She had left him ten years ago by the hand of another, and yet, he still can't bring himself to leave her.

"I couldn't leave her behind," Toby finds himself admitting and Spencer's fingers still. He knows she understands what he means. "It's been ten years, you know. And it isn't true; what they say about it getting easier. It doesn't, it just… It just aches."

She's quiet a while before asking, "How often do you go visit her?"

"Not often enough," Toby admits. "I went in October, on the anniversary, but before then? I don't know. It's hard, it's just… It sucks."

"I could go with you," Spencer offers next and when he glances up, she averts her eyes. "I mean, if you wanted me to."

Words cannot express how grateful he is to have this option, so he hopes the smile he shoots her gets the job done, instead.

A smile paints itself from ear to ear across her lips. He wishes he'd been friends with her all along.

* * *

III.

Her mother makes the announcement over Christmas dinner that she'll be undergoing chemotherapy beginning in January.

It's the least merry Spencer has ever felt.

They'd managed to wrangle Melissa home for the holidays and in between stories of her exploits across Europe and her multiple flings with multiple foreign men, Veronica decides that _this_ is the best possible time to announce her illness has returned. Peter keeps a hand on his wife's back throughout the entire thing, his face pale, as Spencer's extended family bursts into an uproar in response. Melissa begins to shriek and cry and announces that she's moving home _immediately_ to take her mother to her appointments and be there to hold her hand through radiation treatments and volunteers to hold her hair back if and when she gets ill. Spencer's silent, because of course she'd known all along, but she supposes there isn't really anything she needs to say. Beside her, Toby is silent, too. In the midst of the madness, he reaches for her hand again, a stabilizing factor, and all is well.

She'd invited him to Christmas dinner with her family the moment she knew all the details and he'd been immediately hesitant and mildly suspicious. But the thought of him spending Christmas alone was like a dagger to her heart. She knows he doesn't speak to his father anymore and it isn't like Yvonne's family would be extending an invitation this year. Eventually he agrees and he's nervous, she can tell, the entire drive to her parents' home, but he needn't be. Melissa greets him like he'd never left and Peter's still asking him all about how he'd liked college and how his experience on the force is, these days, and it's all she needs. When the older relatives retire in the living room with their typical post-meal cocktails, Veronica stands and begins to clear the table, Spencer jumping up, too, to assist. Her mother's standing over the sink when Spencer finds her and she heaves a great sigh.

"This isn't going to change anything," Veronica says. "I'll beat this, just like I did the last time."

Spencer nods quickly. "I know you will."

"You didn't sound surprised."

Biting her lip, Spencer admits. "I already knew."

A wry smile finds its way across Veronica's face and she nods. "I had a feeling you might."

"How?"

"I'm your mother, Spencer. I know you," Veronica says and it's the second person in a week to tell her this. Spencer's beginning to wonder if she's the only one who doesn't. "I'm glad you brought Toby. He's a good kid. You've always been really happy with him."

"I'm not _with_ him," She shrugs and steps closer, reaching for an unopened bottle of wine. "We're just friends. He didn't have anywhere to go today; he just got out of a really serious relationship."

Veronica nods. "Yeah, he almost got married, I heard. But he didn't."

Spencer pours them each an identical glass of wine and takes a long sip from hers. "No, he didn't. They wanted different things, I'm told."

"Mmhm," Veronica muses, watching the cabernet swirl in her glass. "I'll bet he wants you."

She chokes and the wine burns the whole way down. "What? Mom, are you trying to play matchmaker?"

"Oh honey, I don't think anyone has to," Veronica shakes her head. "You two were crazy for each other and old habits die hard, I'm afraid."

 _Habits_. Spencer purses her lips. "Thanks for your blessing."

"Spencer, I'm going to beat this. I know I am. I feel it in my bones," Veronica says, sobering just a bit. "But, if by some chance I don't… I want to know you'll be happy. And I've never seen you happier than when you were with him."

Spencer considers this a long time before saying, "It's too much of a gamble, right now. We've only _just_ gotten back on solid ground with each other. I don't want to mess that up."

"I understand. It's always a gamble," Veronica nods and drains her glass, beginning to load the dishwasher. "But if you don't roll those dice, Spencer, you're going to lose your turn."

Spencer glances over her shoulder, where Toby's laughing at something her father's said, and knows her mother's right.

* * *

IV.

Emily throws a New Year's Eve party and no one shows up.

When she opens the door, Toby can see tables and tables lined with appetizers, finger foods and all the alcohol one could ever hope to want. There's beer and wine and cocktails she's whipping up in a shaker, and there's a 'Happy New Year!' banner, noisemakers and hats, tiaras and sunglasses, confetti and poppers, but no guests. Toby's actually running about an hour late- New Year's Eve being one of the most active nights for his line of work, after all- but when he arrives, Emily hugs him with all the conviction of someone she hasn't seen in ages. It's been maybe a week. Alison had never replied to her invitation and Aria had canceled last minute and Caleb and Hanna are noticeably absent as well- not that Toby minds- so ringing in the New Year with all their closest friends turns into ringing in the New Year with his best friend and his ex-girlfriend.

He feels like he's being set up for something.

"What are your New Year's resolutions?" Emily asks a moment later, sucking on the hooped end of a leftover candy cane. "I feel like this year's been such a mess, I could go on for hours."

"I don't really ever make them," Toby shrugs. "It's not really my thing."

"Well this year, you do," Emily decides. "Come on! Humor me. This is like my tenth birthday party all over again."

"Hey," Spencer defends her. " _I_ came to that party. And it was a blast."

Emily chuckles. "Thanks, Spence."

"Okay," Toby says and thinks a moment before coming up with, "I'd like to finish the house and sell it, I think. I'd like to sell it and use the profit to maybe start my own contracting company. Quit the force; go back to doing what I love. _Use_ the degree I paid sixty-five thousand dollars for. Pay off my student loans… Okay, maybe I _do_ have a resolution."

Emily nods. "That sounds great! Very ambitious of you."

"Thank you."

"Wait," Spencer exclaims. "All that work you put into the house… And you're just going to sell it?"

"Well, yeah," Toby nods. "I wanted to see if I could do it and I'm doing it. But I don't… I don't really need it anymore."

She looks utterly shocked and extremely disappointed and Toby understands. It's the age old question he's been asking himself for months; if the house was for him and Yvonne, but Yvonne's long gone, then who does the house now belong to?

The answer is right there in front of him.

Clearing his throat, he asks, "What's your resolution, Em?"

"I would love to find some stability," Emily sighs. "In _everything_. My career, my love life… Maybe see Dr. Sullivan while I'm home so she can help me start to get closure over my dad. Maybe go back to school, see if I can make it through. I honestly would just love some peace."

"You deserve it," Spencer tells her and Emily smiles.

"Thanks," Emily replies. "What about you? What does Spencer want out of the New Year?"

"I don't know. To get my life together, probably," Spencer smirks, but it's clear she's serious. "I'd love to get a job and an apartment somewhere, preferably not here. I'd love to stay in touch with you guys if I do end up leaving because… I think that's the reason for all of the problems in the first place."

The crowd in Times Square on the television before them erupts in cheers and makes each of them jump. Emily snaps out of it and says, "Sixty seconds until the New Year."

"May it be better than the last," Toby proposes, holding his drink high.

Spencer nods. "I'll drink to that."

They each down the liquid in their glasses as Spencer's phone chimes in between them. Toby asks, "Who's that?"

"If it's –A wishing us a 'Happy New Year, bitches,' I'm moving to Timbuktu," Emily jokes and Spencer grins.

"It's not. I have an email," Spencer says and then her eyes go wide. "I got that job I applied for! With the firm in Yardley!"

"Congratulations!" Toby beams. "I told you it wouldn't be long!"

"Yay Spence!" Emily hugs her. "Oh, that's so great! This calls for more champagne!"

She hops up and leaves the room for the kitchen and Spencer's still staring at her phone in disbelief as the freezing patrons of New York City begin to count down the last seconds of the year. _Ten, nine, eight…_

"I can't believe it," Spencer shakes her head. "John McCarroll has managed half of the campaigns in this town. He would've had my mother's had he been available."

"See? What did I tell you?" Toby grins. "You're already off to a great start, this year."

 _Seven, six, five…_

"Yardley's kind of far, but you know what?" Spencer shakes her head. "It's worth it. I don't even know what to say. This is going to be great!"

"I'm really happy for you," Toby tells her sincerely. "You deserve this."

 _Four, three, two…_

She glances at the TV screen where Ryan Seacrest is counting and the ball is dropping and couples are already gearing up for that big New Year's kiss. She leans a bit closer and Toby's heart's in his throat, pounding in his ears, as she asks, "Toby?"

He leans in, too, and can see a thousand different shades of brown in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Champagne's here!" Emily announces and the two jump apart as though electrically shocked. "Did I miss it?"

"No," Spencer shakes her head, avoiding Toby's gaze. "You didn't miss anything."

 _One! Happy New Year!_

Confetti rains down on the streets of New York, couples embrace and welcome the brand new year. Their glasses clink together and the champagne tickles and seduces all the way down. It tastes fuzzy and explosive, like fireworks, and he hugs each of the girls in celebration. And it's a new year with new experiences to be had and new memories to be made.

And yet, it's old feelings that seem to be resurfacing.

* * *

V.

"I had the _shittiest_ day," Spencer says the moment she steps through the door of Toby's apartment. It's become routine; it's the first week at her brand new job and she's said this everyday since starting.

And yet, he doesn't judge her or grow tired of her or become frustrated with her. He sits down on the couch as she drops onto it and says, "Tell me all about it."

"I am a glorified intern," Spencer heaves a sigh. "I don't get to talk to John McCarroll. I don't get to learn from John McCarroll. I don't even get to _look_ at John McCarroll. I get him his coffee, listen to his assistants and the other managers in his office brag about how great of a person he is, and then, when they're done, I get _more_ coffee. Sometimes, I get to type things. Sometimes, I get to file reports or take calls. But mostly, I'm pouring half coffee, half creamer, into a little Styrofoam cup, simultaneously stirring while emptying four packets of sugar into it, because he can taste the difference, and doing virtually _nothing_ else. I'm an intern. The _only_ difference is that I'm getting paid. I'm getting paid to watch a man ruin coffee with pointless mix-ins. No! Even worse! _I'm_ the one doing the ruining, because God forbid, he get his own damn coffee."

"He burned his hand that one time," Toby remembers and this both impresses and infuriates her.

"Yeah, he did. Too bad he didn't burn it _off_ ," Spencer groans. "And what makes it worse is that it's fucking _pouring_ outside and today is the day he decides not to be a jackass and to buy the whole office lunch. Except who gets to pick it up? I do! And who has to walk six blocks down the sketchy streets of Yardley because he doesn't trust her with the company car yet? Me! And _then_ who gets the last choice of meals and gets stuck with a Cobb salad when she _doesn't even like Cobb salad?!_ "

"Let me guess," Toby says. "You?"

"Ugh," Spencer covers her face with her hands. "Could it get any worse?"

Toby places a hand on her arm and pleads, "Get your coat. I'm taking you out to celebrate."

She pulls her hands off of her face and eyes him strangely. "Celebrate what? All my failures? The fact that I paid hundreds of thousands of dollars on a degree that got me nothing but a job as a glorified coffee courier?"

"No," Toby shakes his head. "You finished your first week. You survived. Remember the first day when you came home saying you wouldn't?"

She nods and smiles just a bit. "Yeah."

"Then let's go. You deserve it," Toby stands and offers her a hand. "Dinner or drinks?"

"Drinks," Spencer answers immediately. "And a _lot_ of them."

There's only one bar in Rosewood and it's far from Toby's apartment, right outside of Hollis, in a seedy-looking area. Honestly, in the moment, Spencer couldn't care less. They pull up stools on the corner and order a round of drinks and she's just nearly finished her martini when she says, "I never thought I'd become such a fan of alcohol."

"Me either," He agrees. "It never really appealed to me, but… Well, it gets better with time, I guess."

She downs the rest of her drink. The bartender slides her another. "When do you think I should quit my job?"

Toby chuckles and finishes his drink, too. His, too, is replaced. "You shouldn't, Spencer. You should stick it out unless it's really, _really_ making you unhappy."

"Yeah, but I am kind of unhappy," She says. "Do you think it'll get better?"

"Mine did."

She chews on an olive, contemplating. "What did you get your degree in?"

"Architecture," Toby says. "With a minor in marketing and entrepreneurialism. It was hard and it took me longer than it should have, but… I did it."

"I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," He says. "I did it for me, obviously, but… I also did it for you."

She eyes him. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing? That you did it for me?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," She sighs. "Because you always said I was against being with a cop-"

"Which you were."

"Which I _wasn't_ ," She disagrees. "It wasn't that being with a cop wasn't good enough for me. It's that being _a_ cop wasn't good enough for _you_."

"What the _hell_ does that mean?" Toby asks and Spencer downs the rest of her drink in one big gulp.

"You hated it. Or, you did, back then," Spencer explains. "And you were only doing it because of me. And I hated that. I hated being the reason for your unhappiness. But you were so stubborn and you wouldn't go back to carpentry no matter _what_ I tried and… I thought maybe if you went to college, maybe if you got a degree, you'd see there was more out there than being a police officer because your girlfriend was danger-prone."

"Jesus Christ, Spencer," Toby groans and his drink, too, is gone in a flash. "Just say it. Just say that you hated that I was a cop."

"I did! I do!" Spencer exclaims. "But not because of me. Because I hated seeing you unhappy and I always have. And you always were."

"And your feelings had _nothing_ to do with this? That's bullshit, Spence, and you know it."

"Fine! It scared the fucking shit out of me any time I saw you in uniform, okay?" She explodes. "Rosewood was a fucking mess and all I could think about was the stuff you were handling out there. All I kept seeing was your body and… That _destroyed_ me. It wasn't that being with a cop wasn't good enough for me. It was that being with a cop wasn't _good_ for me. My anxiety was through the roof. I stayed up _so_ late every night just waiting to hear that you were okay. I kept thinking you would end up like Garrett or Wilden because… Because all the cops in Rosewood end up in body bags, sooner or later. So yeah, I hated it. I really, _really_ hated it."

Toby stares at her. "That's why you kept pushing me to quit."

"Yes. You deserved better," Spencer sighs. "We both did."

He scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's water under the bridge, now."

After a beat and when they're both beginning to feel alcohol's fuzzy effects, Toby asks, "What did you do? After we broke up?"

"What do you mean?" She asks, incredulous. "Besides fall apart?"

"I just didn't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why you were suddenly so against talking about our future," Toby elaborates and his pupils are large and dark and she'd like to drown in them. "One minute, we were talking about newborns with six-packs and the next, the mere _thought_ of us with a baby drove us apart forever."

"Those two minutes were three years apart, Toby," Spencer points out. "And a lot happened in those three years you're forgetting."

"But I don't get it," He pleads with her. "Help me understand."

"Understand _what_?"

"Why you pushed me away," He says and his eyes are watery, like tears in the ocean. "You wanted to forget everything about Rosewood but I never thought I would be one of them."

"I didn't want to forget you," Spencer assures him. "I didn't want to lose you at all. I didn't want to let that happen."

"But you did," Toby points out. "It happened. And yet, here we are. Back at square one again."

Spencer stares at him a long time and supposes he's right; they're back at the beginning.

 _C'est dommage. C'est la guerre_.

In one swallow, Spencer finishes her drink and motions for the bartender. "Shots. Tequila shots, please."

And then they're drunk, drunker than she's ever been, and she feels like she's falling through the sky without a parachute. She watches as Toby sucks down a shot and grimaces, reaching for the lime she offers him. "I met Yvonne because I pulled her over."

Spencer coughs, choking a bit violently. "You pulled her over?"

"She was speeding. Doing at least seventy-five," Toby explains. "And when I pulled her over, she didn't even try to flirt with me or cry to get out of it. She just explained that she was late for a rally her mother was having and if she didn't make it, it would be my fault. It's something we laughed about, later. But she paid her fine and she sent me a formal letter of apology. I asked her out a week later."

"She seems like a great person," Spencer says and there's an empty shot glass in front of her that she doesn't remember drinking. "She was really-"

"She broke up with me, you know," Toby says. "Not the other way around. She said she thought I was still in love with you."

"I knew it was my fault," Spencer frowns. "At least let me fix it. Let me talk to her. Do you think she'll listen to me? Do you think she hates me?"

"That's the cool thing about her- she never hated anyone," Toby tells her and downs another shot. Then he glances at her through a haze of alcohol and says, "But you might be the first."

The room is spinning and there are two of him when Spencer admits, "Caleb's the only other person I ever said 'I love you' to, besides you. And it really fucking hurt when he didn't say it back."

"Yeah but he's a douche," Toby says, slurring the tiniest bit. "Did you really love him?"

" _No_ ," She says and it's been weeks and she finally has an answer. "I thought I did. I don't know what I was thinking. It had been so long since anyone felt _anything_ for me- since I felt anything for anyone- and I wanted it to be real, but it wasn't. It never was. But it felt like… It felt like every other guy who's ever liked me, you know? And I never really ever… I never really ever expected it from him. They never have _real_ feelings for me, you know? It's always physical. It was that way with everyone; with Wren and with Andrew and with Dean and with Jonny and with Collin and with Caleb and I don't know _why_ I ever expect anything different. They don't love me."

"I do," Toby tells her and her eyes snap to his and he's clear as day, now. "I've always loved you."

She gulps. "Still?"

"Always."

And she bursts into hysterical laughter and he follows suit and they're laughing so hard, they gain the attention of the rest of the crowded, college bar. The bartender chooses that moment to cut them off and Spencer, drunkenly, asks, "We're not going to remember _any_ of this, are we?"

"My guess is," Toby chuckles. "Probably not."

* * *

VI.

He's never been so sick in his life.

He calls in sick to work for the first time in his entire career, because his head is pounding and stuck in an unrelenting metal vice and his entire body feels like he was hit with a sack of bricks and he's been vomiting tequila for three hours straight. Why they _ever_ thought it would be a good idea to get so insanely drunk is beyond human comprehension. Why they ever thought it would be a good idea to get insanely drunk _and_ talk about their relationship is an even bigger question he's still trying to process and come up with an answer for. Around eleven a.m. when he can finally muster the courage to climb out of bed, he peels open the door in search of ibuprofen and water and finds Spencer brewing coffee in the kitchen, looking about as shitty as he feels. She's rubbing her temples and staring at the drip and he doesn't know how she can drink that right now, honestly. Just the smell is making him nauseous all over again.

"Morning," She mutters. "That was fun last night. We should do that again sometime."

"Please stop shouting," He begs and pops the top off of a tube of Tylenol. "I feel like I'm dying. Are we dying?"

"Are you kidding? I feel amazing," Spencer jokes. "Tequila really does wonders for your digestive tract."

She sits down at the table and he follows suit, a glass of water opposite her mug of coffee. He honestly doesn't know what to say, because she'd joked last night that they wouldn't remember, but he can still see every second of every frame like a movie in reverse. "Spencer… About what I said last night-"

"Which part?" Spencer asks and they're on the same page; of course, they've always been, right up until they weren't. "We should talk about it; _all_ of it. I'm sorry I was the reason you and Yvonne broke up. I will leave right now, I will go find her, I will go beg her to change her mind and I'll stay away forever… if that's what you want."

"No, she's better off without me," Toby admits quietly. "She deserves better. She deserves to be the center of someone's world, to have someone's _full_ attention… and she'd never get that from me."

He watches as this confession plays out on Spencer's face before she says, "I really did want a future with you. But back then a future wasn't something I was used to. When we first talked about babies… I mean, we were _kids_ , Toby, and it was before anything _really_ bad happened, you know? And it was easier to see a future when my death wasn't at every turn I took. But when everything happened with –A and the kidnapping and the dollhouse and… The only way I got through that was by living one day at a time. I kept telling myself that I just had to make it until tomorrow, and then I'd wake up the next day and say the same thing. And after I got out, that's how I coped with being home. I'd tell myself just to make it through the night, because tomorrows were never guaranteed. And I couldn't look into the future, Toby, because… Because I didn't know if I'd be getting one."

He stares at her in complete awe, because he's known this girl for _years_ and yet she's never confessed this to him. He feels selfish, disappointed in himself, frustrated, because how could he expect her to settle down with him and start a family when she was _just_ starting to live her own life? "Spence, I… I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No, it's not your fault. Really," She assures him. "But that's why… I was freaking out over schoolwork and the papers and exams were just piling on and my anxiety was through the roof. And that incredible stress is what made my period late in the first place. But what scared me even more, Toby, was how _ready_ you were to drop everything and accept this as our new normal. You were already planning to transfer and move in with and me and raise this hypothetical baby and I was still thinking about the poli-sci exam I had the next day."

"I would've done anything for you," Toby tells her. "Anything to make it easier."

"I know. And as much as I needed to hear that, it was also the worst thing you could've said," Spencer says regretfully. "Because I knew that, if I was pregnant, if we did keep it, if we moved in together and struggled and raised a baby while I was still in school and you were working two jobs, we would end up resenting each other. We would probably hate each other. And I couldn't bear the thought of that."

"Spencer, I could never in a _million_ years hate you," Toby assures her. "I'm serious. Nothing you could ever do-"

"You say that now, but you don't know what would've happened," Spencer says. "And I guess I don't either, but I couldn't see it ending happily for any of us. I didn't want to resent you for making me have a baby I wasn't ready to have. I didn't want you to resent me for making you move to D.C. and work extra hard to start your life over. And most of all… Toby, I wanted a future with you. I really did. But… Whether or not that future included children, I wanted the decision to be ours. I wanted it to be our choice to have a child and not for it to happen on accident. I didn't want to have a shotgun wedding and a child we were scared of raising. I didn't want any of that to happen like this. And… I didn't want you to end up with me by default."

It all makes perfect sense, now. He can hear his own drunken voice from the night prior- _help me understand_ \- and now, he truly does. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"I'm sorry it happened to _us_ ," She sighs. "But I can't… I can't have you thinking I didn't want you to be around forever. And I know our communication issues have always been to blame, but I can't help but wonder where we'd be, now, if we hadn't let ourselves grow apart."

"All this time," Toby shakes his head. "I thought you hated kids. I thought you didn't want to get married or have children. I thought you didn't want _me_."

"I thought that's all you wanted," Spencer admits. "I thought you were ready to settle down, at nineteen and twenty, our lives and careers be damned."

"For the record, I'm really proud of you. I always have been; of all you've accomplished," Toby says. "And I would never, _ever_ , stand in the way of that."

"Thank you," She smiles. "And I guess, for the record, I don't hate kids or marriage. In fact, I want them both. But I need to figure out my own life before I'm responsible for another."

He grins at her and she then asks, "Do you think, if we had this conversation years ago, we could've been friends longer?"

"Spencer," Toby tells her honestly. "I think, if we had this conversation years ago, we'd still be together."

* * *

VII.

Here's all the ways that Caleb's ruined her:

She texts Hanna about once a week, asking about her life, her job, her apartment, New York City, but never about him. Hanna always replies a day or two later, cites that she's been busy, and then answers all of Spencer's questions and asks a few of her own; her new job, where she's living, how things are with Toby, what's going on with her life, if her mom is okay, but never about him. And he's come between them and he's ruined her relationship with her best friend. But not just one best friend, because Emily and Aria have now decided to choose sides (Emily's Team Spencer, Aria's Team Hanna; no one wins), so it's all her best friends, and Spencer realizes that their friendship will never be the same. She knows it's half her fault, but it's half his, too.

She's guarded and careful and cautious, now. She wasn't always like this. She started off this way when she was a child, when she was a blooming adolescent, when she was a blossoming teenager, but then she'd met the love of her life and he'd taught her to believe in herself. And she had, for the first time in her life, but it didn't last. Caleb had made her feel wanted, sure, but never safe and secure, never fulfilled and enriched, never supported and loved. And now she feels like she's looking at a stranger in the mirror; someone who looks and sounds an awful lot like her, but isn't saying or doing anything she would normally do. It's almost as if she's completely lost her identity, and searching for it in him is just about the unhealthiest thing she can do. Still, she tries. And still, she comes up empty, nameless and faceless. She knows it's half her fault, but it's half his, too.

Today she wakes up and it's a cold, snowy day in late January and Toby makes her breakfast and brings it to the couch, just because. And he hands her a fork- _you can use it to eat the breakfast your boyfriend just cooked for you_ \- and a strong mug of coffee- _this is your last cup_ \- and they read the paper like adults and have a full conversation and plan for what they'll make for dinner, who will be home first. It's just as domestic as it ever has been between them and it almost feels like nothing's changed, but something has. _She_ has and she can almost see the wedge Caleb's maneuvered in between them and she knows he'll be there forever. She cannot stop it; she cannot keep him out. And she wants to, she so desperately wants to, because Toby hugs her before he leaves for work and the confession almost leaves her mouth, but it stays locked tight behind the cage of her teeth.

She's in love with Toby and she cannot say it. In fact, she's afraid to.

She knows it's half her fault. But it's half his, too.

* * *

VIII.

On the last day of January, she finally comes home with good news.

"Guess who's up for campaign manager for the junior officer underneath John McCarroll, besides that whiny faux blonde and the college frat boy-turned wannabe politician?"

Toby stares at her a moment and says, "I'd like to, but I'm not sure I'm following you."

Spencer chuckles. "Me! I am. The answer is me."

"I figured," He replies. "But what are you up for?"

"The firm is choosing among the three of us to manage the campaign for some guy I've never met," Spencer shakes her head. "He's running for governor of Pennsylvania. Whatever. Most importantly, one of us is going to get to manage his campaign and that person might be me."

"Well congratulations," He grins. "You deserve it. You'll knock this thing out of the park."

"Thank you," She grins too. "We're going to have to travel all over Pennsylvania with him and it's a year-long thing and it would start within the next couple of weeks."

"Oh," Toby frowns. "So you're telling me you're moving out?"

"Well," She shrugs. "Technically, yes."

"That sucks," Toby sighs. "I really liked splitting rent."

She swats at him and he chuckles, his hands up in defense. "I'm kidding!"

"I was actually thinking," She then says. "That maybe… Maybe you could come with me. You're getting really sick of your job and it might be nice to see other parts of Pennsylvania, you know? I know you don't want to leave your mom, but it wouldn't be forever. You could always come back."

He hesitates. "I'm not _that_ sick of my job."

"You complain about it literally everyday."

"I've actually seen a lot of Pennsylvania already, Spence. When I was a carpenter, I mean. And I need to finish the house."

"It would still be here when you got back!"

"I don't think I can leave Rosewood."

"And we're back at this again," Spencer sighs. "You _could_ leave. Nothing is tying you down!"

Toby shrugs simply. "I like this town."

"That's bullshit."

"It's not."

"Why? Why would you like this town?" Spencer explodes, seemingly out of nowhere. "Because you became the town pariah at age sixteen? Because they dragged your name through mud and called out death threats from their cars? Because they believed your mother killed herself, your house exploded from a gas leak, and yet they still looked at you like you were someone to fear? Someone dangerous? Did you forget about all of that somewhere in between drawing up blueprints and supporting campaigns and trips to France?"

Her chest is heaving as she tries to catch her breath and Toby glances away from her when he says, "No, I could never forget that. Seeing you, back here again, and all the girls… I'm reminded everyday."

She wonders if this is supposed to be a backhanded compliment, but she's too angry to comment on it. "Then how could you possibly-"

"But I'm also reminded of something else," Toby cuts her off and she falls silent. "This town, those circumstances… They're the reasons you and I were together. Maybe I'm just a glass half full kind of guy but I can't regret anything that happened when our relationship was the outcome. Because Spence… Those were the best three years of my life. And honestly, if none of this had happened, if you hadn't injured Jenna and Alison hadn't gone missing and I hadn't been accused of murdering her… If –A had never existed… Would you have even looked my way?"

Spencer does not trust her voice, so silent she remains. Toby nods softly and says, "I didn't think so."

* * *

IX.

She doesn't get the job.

It turns out, their argument over staying in Rosewood had all been in vain, because the college frat boy-turned wannabe politician gets chosen to manage the campaign and Spencer gets nothing in return. Toby's half awake, mindlessly flipping through the channels on the television, when she gets home and she's upset; that he can tell just by looking at her. But she doesn't tell him why, at least not at first, and he doesn't push her because she's never been good with that. He forces himself to stay awake long enough to hear what she's got to say, and it's long after midnight when she finally admits what's troubling her. She feels like a failure, she feels like she does _so_ much work and has nothing to show for it, and she feels like every time she's got something under her belt, it slips right out of her grasp instead. He feels awful for her and just _once_ wants something to go her way. He's about ready to beat that wannabe politician to a pulp if that would make her feel better, if that would put a smile on her face. And when he looks at her, at the exhaustion and frustration in her deep chocolate eyes and the stress lines that have come back to her forehead and the way she's anxiously twisting the bottom of her shirt in knots, it hits him like runaway train.

He's in love with this girl, and maybe he always has been, or maybe he never stopped.

It takes his breath away. _He is so in love with her he cannot contain himself_. It's all he can think about. _He is hopelessly, endlessly, irretrievably in love with her_. He doesn't say another word, because he's terrified it'll slip out. Instead, they brush their teeth in tandem and she expresses how disappointed and frustrated she is and then vows to find something better, because she isn't going to let this knock her down. And that's the Spencer he knows and loves and God, she looks _so_ beautiful in the moonlight dancing across the living room floor and if he doesn't say it soon, he's going to burst. And somewhere out there Yvonne is shouting a very loud _I told you so_ and he hopes with everything he has that she's happy, because dear God, he is. And he never would have predicted that this would be his reality, not after they'd fallen apart so carelessly, not after they'd come back together so carefully. But here they are. And here he is.

And he loves her. With everything he has, he loves her.

And that's how they end up back in her office.

"I'm not really sure how I can help you two," Dr. Sullivan says after ten minutes of straight silence. "If you won't tell me what the problem is."

"Are we crazy?" Spencer asks quietly a moment later, staring at the floor between them. "Are we deluding ourselves into thinking that this will ever work again?"

"That what will ever work again?" Dr. Sullivan asks and Toby can't bring himself to say the words. "The two of you? Is that what this is about?"

They're silent and she takes this as a yes. "Why would that be crazy?"

"Because," Toby sighs. "Because of what happened between us. Because of everything we've been through. Because of how we broke up and Caleb and Yvonne. Because she's... And I'm..."

"She's what? _You're_ what?" Dr. Sullivan wonders, and it's an open question, but neither can answer and she exhales heavily. "I've seen this a lot, you know, in couples that have been through great trauma and grief. Instead of taking it out on those who'd inflicted it upon them, they end up turning their criticism inward; they begin questioning their own support system instead of accepting it, growing from it. And let me tell you right now, it isn't healthy."

Toby sighs and doesn't look at Spencer. Of _course_ it isn't; that's why they're here. Dr. Sullivan proposes, "Spencer... How do you feel about having Toby back in your life?"

"It's great," She says honestly and this finally brings his eyes to hers. She chances a small smile that he easily returns. "He's amazing, but, I mean, he's always been amazing. He's so helpful and understanding and forgiving. He's sweet and he's kind and he's such a great listener. I don't know what I'd do without him. I don't know what I _did_."

Dr. Sullivan nods and turns to Toby. "And Toby? How do you feel about Spencer being back?"

"It feels right," Toby tells her. "Rosewood feels like home again. She's really strong and really smart and so hardworking. I'm really proud of her; she's already gone and accomplished so much. I know she can do anything. She's always had that power. She's incredible."

"So if that's how you feel about Spencer these days," Dr. Sullivan then says. "How do you feel about yourself?"

Toby frowns and thinks of the violence, the lack of remorse or regret, the heartbreak he'd inflicted upon Yvonne and frowns. "I'd rather not say."

"Okay," Dr. Sullivan says. "Spencer?"

There's a storm brewing in her eyes and they fill with tears she struggles to blink away. "No. No, I'm a mess. That's not... That's not new information."

"So, what I'm getting here isn't that _you_ think it won't work," Dr. Sullivan says. "It's that you think the _other_ person won't. That one day, they might wake up and see you the way you see you and then realize all this had been a mistake."

Toby frowns. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"It isn't uncommon for you to feel this way following an experience as trying and emotionally tasking as yours," Dr. Sullivan assures them. "But by putting each other on such a high pedestal, you're tearing yourselves down. And sooner or later, your own insecurities are going to end this relationship before it even begins. You need to find a healthy way to let go of the past before it eats both of you alive."

Toby glances at Spencer and takes one of her hands in his. "Spence... I don't blame you for _anything_."

"I don't blame _you_ for anything," She echoes and oddly enough, these words set him free.

"You both think so highly of each other," Dr. Sullivan remarks, bittersweet in sentiment. "I only _wish_ you'd think as highly of yourselves."

And that's what breaks him. In Spencer's eyes, he sees the same.

* * *

X.

It's Valentine's Day and she's at home filing her tax return when there's a knock on the door.

When she pulls it open, Toby's there, and he's got a bouquet of lilies and hydrangeas in one arm and a grin on his face a mile wide. He's wearing a jacket and a tie; she's wearing sweatpants. "What the…?"

"I'm here to pick you up," Toby beams. "For our date."

"I wasn't aware we were _going_ on a date," Spencer says, her arms crossing over her chest. "Are you sure you have the right address?"

"Come on," Toby says. "I asked when you first got here if I could buy you dinner sometime. I'm making good on that promise. Or do you not remember?"

"I remember," She grins and nods him inside. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

"I'll put these in water," He replies. "Where's your kitchen?"

She chuckles and takes the flowers from him, inhaling deeply and thanking him as she heads deeper into his apartment. It takes her longer than she'd care to admit to get herself ready for a night on the town, and she's shaking a bit and there's a fluttering in her stomach she hasn't felt since she was seventeen. It feels almost like their very first date and the irony isn't lost on her; they hadn't had many more after that one. She takes extra care to curl her hair and put on actual makeup instead of the simple mascara she'd been wearing to work and zips her dress to the best of her ability. Slipping on her shoes, she gives herself the once over and is moderately satisfied with her appearance. But when she steps out into Toby's view, you would think he'd won a date with a supermodel by the way he reacts.

"Wow," His eyes are wide and inviting and everywhere at once. "You look incredible."

"Thank you," She smiles and takes the arm he offers her. "Where are we going?"

"That is a surprise," He replies as they leave the apartment. "But I hope you won't be disappointed."

"I sincerely doubt that."

They end up at Buccoli's, for old time's sake, and it makes her heart ache in the best possible way. They'd ordered takeout directly to his loft so many times back when they were teenagers that the waiter still remembers them, to this very day. He seats them at the table by the window so they can watch the lights in Rosewood blur and dance together and after they've each received their drinks, Toby lifts his to say, "Happy Valentine's Day, Spence."

"Happy Valentine's Day," She smiles and clinks her glass together with his. "I have to say I was not expecting this when I woke up this morning. How long have you been planning this?"

"Since about a week ago," He tells her. "I figured you needed some cheering up and I promised you that dinner forever ago."

"I honestly might've forgotten if you hadn't brought it up," Spencer says. "Everything that happened… It seems like a lifetime ago."

"It was," Toby says. "We were different people, back then."

"We're different people now."

"I don't know. I feel the same," Toby shrugs. "Don't you? Or, that's right, you don't know who you are anymore, right?"

Spencer contemplates this before shaking her head. "I'm beginning to remember."

They eat and drink and talk and laugh. She doesn't know the last time she'd been on a date, but she's pretty sure this one could blow every other competitor out of the water. They walk through the streets of Rosewood afterwards, hand in hand, and the butterflies in her stomach start doing twists and turns and flips and she's pretty sure even he can hear how loudly her heart is pounding against the cage of her chest. When they get in the car, neither of them wants the night to end, and so they drive and drive and sooner or later, they reach their old lookout point, and Rosewood looks so incredibly different and yet so painstakingly the same below them. And they count stars and watch the sky fade from blue to purple to black and it all feels so surreal, like a beautiful, wonderful dream. But tomorrow is Tuesday and they must return home; they may have just had the night of their lives, but tomorrow is another day.

"So nice of you to see me to my doorstep," Spencer jokes and then amends her statement. "Well… _your_ doorstep."

"Oh come on, it's been months," Toby says. "It's ours now."

"Thank you for dinner," She says, trying to ignore her furiously beating heart. "And for the flowers. And for tonight. It was amazing."

"You're amazing," Toby tells her instead and then he kisses her.

And it's simple, but it isn't, not really, because it's what she's unknowingly been waiting for all along. His lips are warm and purposeful against her own and she reaches for him, snakes her arms around his neck as his come, instinctively, around her waist. He opens the door with one hand, blindly, and they stumble over the threshold and into his apartment, away from prying neighbors' eyes. She does not release him. Instead, she pulls him closer, closer still, her fingers threading through his impossibly soft hair and her body pressed up against his and lets out a sound halfway between a moan and a pleasured sigh. It feels like this: like a calming breeze on a perfect beautiful day, like impassioned lovers being reunited after years apart, like everything's all right, and everything will be alright, so long as they never leave each other's arms.

She doesn't plan to; she's already lost him once and she's never letting that happen again.

Years and years of regret and remorse and longing and suppressed emotions from their messy break up have finally lead them here, to the point of no return. Spencer realizes she's probably been mourning their relationship for longer than she'd ever care to admit and by the way he's kissing her so hungrily and lovingly, she guesses he has been, too. He glances down the hall, at his bedroom door, and she's already one step ahead of him, grabbing his hand and heading in that direction. They undress one another with meticulous care and his eyes glaze over as though he's staring at a Greek goddess and she alights with a special fire at the sight before her. He kisses the shell of her ear, her cheek, her neck, her collarbone and down her stomach and her eyes roll in pleasure as she reaches for him, framing his face in her hands and bringing his lips back to hers. He looks her square in the eye, questioning, and his eyes are the bluest blue when he's aroused and he's still so selfless and caring and she nods without hesitation. And then they're one and it feels like coming home; in this, the most intimate setting, Spencer feels the most like herself. Toby has given her back a piece of herself that he's kept safe all these years and she has never felt more complete.

She doesn't sleep on the couch that night or any night after.

* * *

XI.

A delegate from the United Nations wants Spencer to be his personal assistant and she takes the job immediately.

Toby cheers her on, congratulates her and takes her out to celebrate, because she never ceases to amaze him. Even when she gets knocked down, she always comes back stronger.

They barely have time to talk about or come to terms with their brand new relationship, or perhaps the reigniting of their old one, before they whisk her off to Austria on delegate business. He misses her terribly, but doesn't mind too much. Her absence is a wonderful excuse to get back to work on that house of his and he's recently found a brand new sense of motivation to get the house finished. The snow melts by the end of February and doesn't return; a truly mild Rosewood winter if he'd ever seen one. The roof's been finished and the house is insulated and he'd like to get to work on the exterior; a bit of brick work mixed with some beautiful siding is sure to turn this hunk of wood and drywall into a habitable home, someday. And so by day, he is Officer Cavanaugh, but the moment he hangs up his uniform, he returns to that table saw, determined to make this a place she'd like to live in.

His phone jingles into the mid-afternoon air and Toby smirks. She's been texting him nonstop since she'd touched down in Austria two days prior. It's the only way they can communicate, as the time difference doesn't allow for phone calls. He reaches for his phone, wiping sawdust off of his shirt, and grins at the sight of the message.

 _I'm learning German._ _Ich vermisse dich. Ich wünschte Du wärest hier._

He chuckles and types back, _Great. So you can outsmart me in another language?_

 _It's not that hard to learn, honestly. When I get back, I can teach you_.

 _I'm holding you to that_.

 _It's a beautiful country and the people have been so welcoming._ _Ich glaube, ich liebe es hier._

 _Alright, this is getting ridiculous. I'm going to have to go to Google Translate._

She sends back a laughing emoji and a simple message of, _I miss you. I can't wait to see you again._

 _I miss you too. Come home soon._

And when she does, he meets her at baggage claim with a handmade sign and a bouquet of roses. She grins gleefully and launches herself into his arms. "I missed you _so_ much."

"I missed you too," He chuckles and hugs her just as tight. "You're not leaving again anytime soon, are you?"

"Well actually," Spencer pulls back just a bit. "The delegate was really impressed with me and he said… He said I should put in an application to be an international relations liaison for the UN."

"You're going to become a delegate?" Toby asks and she nods hesitantly. "That's incredible."

"It is, if I get it, but it would mean a lot more travel," Spencer says. "Which is great for me, but not so great for us."

"Spence, you know I support you no matter what," He tells her and watches as she breathes a little easier. "But you're guaranteed to learn even more languages and you have to teach me, too. Otherwise, I won't be able to keep up."

Spencer chuckles and shakes his hand. "It's a deal."

She seals this with a kiss. And Toby's never been happier.

* * *

XII.

Here's all the ways that Toby fixes her:

(again)

He teaches her to believe in herself. She goes back and forth over the decision to apply for the UN position and he sits with her, calmly, and watches her pace, watches her fret, watches her argue and contradict herself a dozen times, before gently encouraging her to follow her heart. And her heart wants the opportunity to connect with people all over the world and so she decides to apply. And then she worries for hours about her resume and he patiently reads through it and offers pointers and tips and things she can change and words she can swap out. And she doesn't sleep the night before the interview, so he doesn't either, and they practice all night and he makes her breakfast in the morning and wishes her good luck and kisses her when it's over. And when she freaks out the moment she gets into the car and tells him it had gone _terribly_ , he holds her and says nothing until she is done ranting and then tells her, as genuinely as he ever has been, that he knows she'd done an incredible job. He tells her she is the strongest, bravest, most intelligent woman he has ever known and that he knows, without a doubt, that she can do this. And he believes in her so, _so_ strongly, that she begins to believe, too. And she gets the job the very next day. And she thanks him endlessly for his ability to remind her of what's important.

He balances out her stronger personality. When she's up at odd hours of the night, on a conference call with Peru and Spain, one step away from screaming in angry Spanish- another language they'd picked up, along the way- he's there to rub her shoulders and remind her to keep her cool. When she's stressed and exhausted but has mountains of paperwork to fill out and file before she can even _think_ about going to bed, he makes her a cup of tea to calm her nerves and runs her a bath surrounded by lavender candles, because that's the type of person he is. When she's one mere glimpse from blowing her top, he takes her by the hand, sits her down and listens to her rant for hours on end before offering solutions to her problems that she never would have thought of. And he's always there, always patient, always caring and always ready to tackle whatever demon she comes to him with. And she thanks him endlessly for his support.

He makes her feel safe again. He makes her feel loved. He makes her feel wanted and needed and supported, forever and always. He kisses her before he leaves for work, as he always goes before her, and he kisses her when she comes home, late and fatigued. He makes her feel alive in a way she hasn't felt in years; it feels almost like she's been reborn and everything that happened to her in the past is slowly fading away into a place of nonexistence. When they get days off, days just for themselves, they go to their lookout spot and talk about their families or they stay in bed all day and live off of love. Sometimes Spencer looks into his big blue eyes and wonders how on earth she ever let him go in the first place. She always thanks her lucky stars, every single night, for bringing him back to her. And she's like a whole new human being when she's with him. And she doesn't quite know what it is about him, but she feels like herself again. She knows who she is, now. And she thanks him endlessly for that.

But mostly, she thanks him endlessly for loving her.

He hasn't said it yet and neither has she, but she knows.

* * *

XIII.

She's just returned from Portugal and they're basking in the afterglow of zealous lovemaking, lovers reunited. He rolls over his side and presses a kiss to her lips and when they part, they're both smiling. He says, "I have a surprise for you."

"Does it involve getting out of bed?" She asks and when he nods, she groans. "Toby, I'm _so_ jetlagged."

"It'll be worth it," Toby says, sitting up and tossing her shirt to her. "I promise."

It's early April and the streets are wet with a past rain. He gets behind the wheel of his truck and she fights a yawn as they drive down the gloomy streets towards the house. Her eyes widen as he parks the truck right outside, for there are no tools or workbench or blueprints to be found. Instead, the house before them is tall with an angled roof and grey siding, a stone face and a great oak door. There's a blossoming tree in the front yard with the promise of spring, a porch with ample room for a swing and a driveway instead of crackling gravel. Spencer pulls open the door to the truck and steps out onto the wet pavement, her hand immediately coming to her mouth in surprise. And Toby's been waiting for her reaction, waiting for months and months, and this is better than he could have ever imagined.

"Toby…" She says in disbelief. "It's… You finished it."

"Yeah," Toby grins. "Yeah, it's done."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She asks. "Give me the grand tour!"

And so he does. He shows her everything, from the kitchen with the great bay window to the dining room with the open floor plan to the living room with the beautifully ornate fireplace. He shows her the formal living room, with a window seat to curl up on and a wall full of shelves with ample book space, and the basement, with plenty of space for storage or anything they'd like to fill it with. He shows her the office space and the spare bedrooms and the bathroom the two rooms would share. And then he brings her to the master bedroom and it overlooks a beautiful backyard and has an adjoining bathroom with a walk in shower and a whirlpool tub. Spencer's speechless, utterly speechless, but he wishes she wasn't. He wishes she'd say _something_ because the suspense is killing him.

"Toby this is… This is incredible," She finally says and he lets out a sigh of relief. "You are the most amazing person I know."

"I don't know about that."

"I do," She disagrees. "You made this, _all_ of this, with your own two hands. I just can't even grasp the complexity of that. It's unbelievable. You're _amazing_."

"The funny thing is," Toby says and chuckles the tiniest bit. "This started out as a house that I was going to settle down in and raise a family with Yvonne in. Really, it did. Or so I thought, anyway. But the more I worked on it, the more I built it and the more it came together, the more I realized Yvonne would have _hated_ it. She wanted a split-level; because that's the type of house she grew up in. She hated basements and would prefer an attic. She would've been disappointed that I added a shower _and_ a tub to the master bathroom, because she's not a bath taker _at all_. And she has a vendetta against window seats I will never understand."

Spencer frowns. "But I love all of those things."

"Exactly," Toby says. "I never realized it, honestly, until I finished it. But this house was never for her. It was for you. It was for you all along. Somewhere, deep down, I must've known, unconsciously, that we'd find our way back to each other."

Spencer smiles and he can spot tears in her eyes, but she blinks them away. "I love it. I really do. It's so beautiful."

"There's one more surprise," He grins back and takes her hand. "Come on."

A door off the kitchen leads to the laundry room and beside the closet, there's another door that leads to the garage. He tells her to close her eyes and so she does as he's asked and he leads her very carefully down the steps and further into the garage. When he's sure she isn't peeking, he reaches forward and switches on the light, allowing her to open her eyes. There, in front of both of them, is the truck she'd gifted him all those years ago. Her hand flies to her mouth and those tears in her eyes spill over. She doesn't say anything, not at first, but she steps closer and touches the cool metal of their truck, as if to be sure it's real, as if to be sure it isn't a mirage that will vanish if she so much as touches it.

She turns to him finally and gasps, "You kept it."

"I couldn't part with it. It's one of my most prized possessions," Toby tells her honestly. "It doesn't run very well anymore, but it's still holding on."

"Oh my God," She expresses and shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you kept it."

And he simply cannot go another second without her knowing. He steps closer, takes both her hands in his, and professes, "I love you so much."

And it's just like the first time, with the truck beside them, and she frames his face in her hands, her eyes deep and sincere. "I wanted to say that first."

He kisses her, then, an arm around her back and one braced on the car, for stabilization. When their lips part, he murmurs, "I love you. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where."

Her smile grows even wider, if possible. "Pablo Neruda."

"I love you directly without problems or pride," Toby continues, caressing her beautiful face. "I love you like this because I don't know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you. So close that your hand upon my chest is mine-"

"So close," Spencer concludes. "That your eyes close with my dreams."

Their lips meet again and he loves her. He loves her so deeply, so incredibly, so passionately.

She hasn't said it yet, but he doesn't need her to. He knows.

* * *

XIV.

She doesn't know why she's so nervous, but she comes home, finds Toby eating dinner in the kitchen, and her stomach does a somersault.

"Hi," He greets her warmly. "How was your day?"

"Good. Really good, actually," She tells him and kisses him in greeting. "Yours?"

"Same old, same old," He shrugs. "There's pasta on the stove."

"Pasta again?"

"It's my specialty."

"It's the only thing you know how to make."

He chuckles. "Guess I'll have to fit cooking lessons in between getting my permits on that house and learning- what are we learning this week? Arabic?"

"Actually, nothing," Spencer sighs, spooning herself a bowl of pasta and sitting before him. "I have something I need to ask you."

"Go for it."

"The UN is really cracking down on the measures of international security," Spencer begins to explain. "This means meeting after meeting with all the delegates and all the liaisons and these meetings are going to be happening all over the world. They start in Washington, but then they go overseas."

"This means you're going to be away more than you're going to be home, huh?" Toby asks glumly and she bites her lip, nodding.

"For the better half of a year, yes. It's less than ideal. In fact, it's the _opposite_ of ideal," Spencer says. "But I was hoping… Well, I was _wondering_ … I don't know. I know we've had this conversation already hundreds of times. But… Toby, I-"

"I'll come with you," Toby says and her eyes widen. "Is that what you're going to ask?"

"Yes," She says, shocked at his response. "You will?"

"I will," He nods. "The distance has been hard and I think it would be great to have these experiences together. I can take a leave of absence; I don't think they'd mind."

"Oh my God," She grins and pulls him into an embrace. "Oh my God, you're going to come with me!"

He chuckles, kissing her cheek. "Where are we off to after D.C.?"

"London, actually," She replies. "So we won't need to learn a new language after all."

"London, huh?" He muses. "Are we ever coming back?"

She grins sappily at him and the plan is a go. In two weeks, they're en route to London and Toby is tittering about nervously in the seat beside her. He's got the window seat and he continues to pull the shade down and push it back up, dissatisfied. He tucks his carry-on bag further beneath the seat in front of him and checks the seat back pocket for the in-flight menu, airsickness bag and magazine, just in case. Spencer's heart falls into her stomach; he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to come with her; he's just here to make her happy. As the flight attendant comes by to check their seatbelts and the plane pushes back from the gate, Toby leans back against the seat and exhales heavily, his eyes closed.

"Toby," Spencer starts carefully. "If you don't want to do this with me, I can book you a return flight when we get to London. I'll understand. It's really alright."

"Spencer, that's not it," He emits through gritted teeth. "I am _not_ a good flyer."

And then her heart melts because even after all this time, she's still learning new things about him everyday. "You're not? Then why did you agree to come all the way to London with me? It's a seven-hour flight."

"I know it is," Toby says. "I've done it before, and the reason is still the same. Because I love you, Spencer. I'd do anything for you."

He's braver than she'll ever understand and his unmasked courageousness is what finally prompts and frees that confession from her mouth. "I love you, too."

His eyes fly open and meet hers as the plane soars skyward. He doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he merely repeats, "You love me too."

"I'm sorry," She pleads next, her hand gripping his. "I'm sorry I didn't say it when you did. I'm sorry it took me this long to get it out. I'm sorry that I did to you exactly what Caleb did to me."

"You didn't, though," Toby shakes his head. "Because you didn't have to say it. I knew. I know."

Spencer smiles slowly. "Really?"

"I've known all along," He nods. "Doesn't mean it isn't nice to hear it, but I've known all along."

She chuckles and kisses him and all is right in her world again. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Spencer."

And they fly on.

* * *

XV.

London is more perfect and more beautiful than either of them had remembered.

When she isn't working at the U.S. Embassy, they fill their days with knowledge and with history and with legends. They walk across the Millennium Bridge and see a play at the Globe Theatre and eat fish and chips for every meal. They visit Buckingham Palace and watch the changing of the guard and split their sides laughing at their funny hats, their silly coats. A boat ride down the dirty, murky Thames leads them to The Mudlark, the best pub they've ever discovered, and the boisterous barkeep teaches them all about mudlarking, a job that required its applicants to pull bodies from the Thames during the 1800s when murder rates skyrocketed. They take a Jack the Ripper tour at night and it's the spookiest thing they've encountered since –A. Of course, they visit Big Ben and Westminster Abbey and King's Cross and all the touristy locations as well, but they also spend an entire day wandering through the British Museum and enriching their souls and minds with the history of this great country.

One afternoon, after Spencer is freed from her responsibilities for the day, they take the tube to the London Eye and garner a pod all to themselves. Toby claims the best view of the entire city is from the top of St. Paul's Cathedral and once they'd gone, Spencer agrees. But she likes how quiet and how secluded they are on top of the city, like they're the only ones around, watching as the rest of the city goes on, oblivious, below them. They begin to build a future; there's the street they would take their wedding photos on, with the Tower Bridge in the background and there is, of course, the florist where Toby would bring home flowers for her every anniversary. There's a wonderful looking home just overlooking Hyde Park and they could walk their children through the park in the morning and pass by the Peter Pan statue on their way to school. In fact, these happy thoughts are so realistic that she almost forgets they're merely dreams; they return to the ground safely and back to their hotel, hand in hand.

Toby meets her gaze, hopeful and serene. _Someday…_

* * *

XVI.

They're in Tokyo a month later, jetlagged and delirious, and lying in bed at three a.m., wide-awake.

"It's like, five p.m., our time," Toby suggests and Spencer shakes her head.

"It's not _that_ early, is it?"

"In Pennsylvania right now, it is…" He pauses to check his phone and balks at the sight of it. "No, 2 p.m., I'm sorry. I can't sleep."

"Neither can I," Spencer frowns. "This cannot be good for our bodies."

"But it's good for everything else," Toby decides and sits up, going to the window. "Look at everything we can see. I can't _wait_ to go exploring tomorrow."

"I need to brush up on my Japanese," Spencer yawns. "I'm a bit rusty."

"You now speak eight languages and can outsmart me in all of them," Toby teases her. "I'm dating an embassy."

Spencer chuckles. "Well it _would_ be nine, but do you know hard Mandarin is? Ugh. I cannot grasp that."

He grins at her and his heart skips a beat when she glances back. "I'm so proud of you. You know that, right?"

She colors the tiniest bit. "Stop it."

"I'm serious," Toby insists. "You're so hardworking and you're so dedicated and you're _so_ , so smart, and you deserve this, _all_ of this."

Spencer shakes her head and kisses him. "I don't deserve _you_."

"We're not getting into this conversation again."

She grins. "Are we going to visit Mount Fuji tomorrow?"

"That's the plan, right?" Toby asks. "And get some authentic sushi, although that makes me very nervous."

"It's really not as bad as you think."

"Does it have to be _raw?_ "

"No," She chuckles. "There are plenty of non-raw options."

"Well, either way," Toby exclaims. "I'm sure it'll be an adventure."

* * *

XVII.

They're in Paris by Bastille Day and the day is as hot as the sun.

It's the last stop, the final destination, for the UN to make a decision and they fly home at the end of the week. It's been a wild ride from start to finish and as much as Spencer's ready to be back in America with a bit more stability, she'll be sad to leave Paris, one of her favorite places in the world. She has to hand it to this job; she's pretty much seen the world and none of it was on her dime. She's also so incredibly lucky that Toby had decided to join her. She's not sure how she'd have gotten through these past few months without him. Paris is a bustle with activity and celebrating in the streets and when they get a free moment, Toby tells her they'll be dining by the river this evening and visiting the Eiffel Tower. And she marvels at how easily the French rolls off his tongue and he's wearing those _glasses_ and if they weren't in public, she'd be on top of him by now.

Paris is often described as the city of lights and as they take the nighttime stroll, Spencer realizes that's exactly what it is. They ascend the stairs to the tower as high as they can go and the city lights up like a Christmas tree. She's never seen anything so beautiful. When she turns to gauge Toby's reaction, he's already looking at her. "It's absolutely breathtaking."

"It is, isn't it?" He shakes his head. "It's one of the most beautiful sights in the world."

"One of?" Spencer asks, wondering how there could be more and he grins at her.

"Well, I'm looking at another one, aren't I?" He asks her, ever the sappiest man she knows, and she rolls her eyes.

"That was such a line," She laughs. "What are you going to do next? Drop to one knee and ask me to be yours forever?"

"Actually," Toby says and does just that. "Yes."

Her eyes are saucers as she gasps, "Oh my God."

"Spencer, I love you so much," He says and takes her hand, shaking, in his own. "Above all else, I just want to be with you forever. We can get married in a year or in two or in ten. I don't care when; I just want to know that it's in the future. Because you… You _are_ my future. You make me so incredibly happy. And I'm going to love you for the rest of my days."

"You're insane," Spencer shakes her head. Everyone around them is watching and she's pretty sure two teenage girls are videotaping. "You're insane and I love you so much."

He chuckles and realizes, in his haste, he's forgotten the ring. Scrambling in his pocket, he manages to slip it on her finger while asking, "Will you marry me?"

"Of course I will!" Spencer shrieks and there's applause emanating all around her. "Yes, I'll marry you. _Yes!_ "

He stands and scoops her into a hug, kissing her over and over. She's shaking and she can picture a bright beautiful future and a long happy life ahead. And the best part is, she knows he sees the same thing.

They're finally on the same page.

"I love you," Toby professes and wipes a stray tear from her cheek.

" _Je t'aime, mon amour_ ," Spencer replies. " _Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime_."

* * *

XVIII.

They keep it a secret until the following July, when they've been engaged a year and have already eloped.

Emily and Veronica are the only two in the know and they do a well enough job keeping it under wraps until the two decide to go public with the news. They elope in a tiny chapel in Milan a year to the day of their engagement and send out a public announcement to all their family members and friends after doing so. Emily sends them gifts and Veronica not so subtly hints about wanting grandchildren (now that time isn't of the essence; she'd been in remission since Christmas) and Aria calls her to personally congratulate her and Hanna sends a text. It's the most either of them have heard from their friends in months. Toby's family doesn't reply at all, not that they're expecting them to, and Melissa's shacking up with a waiter she'd met in Rome and extends an invitation to her sister and new brother-in-law to come and visit. They do and it's easily the most ridiculous situation her sister has even been in.

On the plane ride home, the first in months, their hands are intertwined on the armrest between them and the sun is beginning to set over the rippling seas below, catching their sparkling wedding bands and bringing a smile to Spencer's face. Toby glances over at her, his nerves immediately settled, and asks, "Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Cavanaugh?"

She grins even further. "I'm just thinking about us, Mr. Cavanaugh. What are we going to do when we land?"

"I think we should make our house a home," Toby says simply. "Fill it with memories and good times."

"And newborns with six-packs?" She asks and he glances at her, hopeful.

"Really?" His eyes read disbelief. "You want that too?"

"Yeah. Maybe not right away," Spencer says. "But when we're ready. In a year or maybe two; once I'm not traveling so much and your business gets off the ground."

"Let's get settled," Toby tells her. "Let's enjoy married life and each other, first. And then…"

"And then?"

"And then," He grins. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

* * *

XIX.

"I'm so nervous."

"Why are _you_ nervous? This test is only pass/fail for me."

"How can you say that? This is my potential kid too."

"Jesus. This not any easier the second time."

"Yeah, but we _want_ it this time."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into that second bottle of Pinot Grigio."

"It's your favorite, Spence."

"Yeah, you're right. I regret nothing."

"How long does this take?"

"Three minutes. Same as last time."

"This isn't the same as last time."

"No. I guess not."

"I bet it's a girl."

"Toby…"

"I bet it's a girl and I bet she'll look just like you."

"We don't know anything yet. We don't-"

"She'll be beautiful and smart and ambitious-"

"You can't get your hopes up because-"

"- and when she's accepting her doctorate or a Nobel Prize or becoming the first female president-"

"- it could end up being nothing. I might have the flu or I've been really stressed, lately, and that's what it was before, and-"

"- we'll look at her and say, 'That's our girl,' and it'll bring us back to this moment and we'll wonder where the time has gone, and- _Jesus Christ_ , what was that?"

"The timer. It's time."

"… Is that…?"

"Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Oh my God. Is that what it looked like last time?"

"No! No! Holy shit!"

"Oh my God."

"Holy _fucking_ shit!"

"Oh my God!"

 _He's going to be a dad._ Toby's not sure it'll ever sink in; at least, not until he holds that little one in his arms for the first time. Spencer's still staring at the urine-slick tube on the bathroom counter, a mixture of emotions in her eyes, and it certainly brings him back to a time he'd care not to remember, but he knows, this time, he need not reassure her. They've been married two years, they're financially stable for the first time in their lives and they're living in the big, beautiful house he'd created with his own two hands. He knows they'll be all right. Suddenly, she turns and gives him the biggest grin he's ever seen before launching herself into his arms, planting a kiss firmly on his lips. She knows, too. Within the week, they've set up their very first prenatal appointment and their doctor immediately expresses concern over Spencer's high hCG levels. While they freak out in the exam room beside him, he draws blood and returns in twenty minutes with their test results.

They're having twins.

"I'm sorry," Spencer emits immediately, shaking her head. "Did you just… Can you… What the fuck did you just say?"

"I'm sorry. You'll have to excuse her; she's very blunt," Toby apologizes, startled by her outburst but still utterly taken aback by the news. "What I think she meant is… No, what the fuck did you just say?"

"Twins?" Spencer repeats. "Twins, as in two babies?"

"As in twins?" Toby echoes and the doctor is staring at them, completely deadpan.

"As in, two babies, in there, right now? As in, two babies, coming out of me at once?"

"As in twins?"

"Holy _fucking_ shit."

"Oh my God."

The doctor begins to hand out pamphlets diagramming a successful multiple pregnancy, a list of foods Spencer should avoid and a helpful sheet dictating symptoms of early pregnancy that are normal and symptoms never to ignore. Spencer takes these blindly, still in suspended shock, and Toby's silent beside her. He wonders if this is karma, if this is a slap of cosmic irony that they hadn't predicted. He wonders if this is the ghost of their pregnancy scare coming back to haunt them; _you think you can handle one now, huh? Why not two?_ He tries not to freak out, really he tries, but every time he thinks he's got a handle on this twins thing, he thinks of twice the diapers, twice the bottles, twice the middle-of-the-night wake-up calls. Toby glances at the fear in Spencer's eyes and knows she's thinking the same thing.

"I'm sorry," Spencer interrupts their doctor. "Can we get back to the whole twins thing?"

"Did you have a question about the pregnancy?" He drones. "Or parenting multiples?"

"It's just…" She shakes her head, incredulous. "We were only planning on one."

"Well, looks like your uterus was having a buy one, get one free sale," The doctor smiles wryly and then turns to Toby, adding, "And _you_ were first in line."

* * *

XX.

They come to terms with the idea of having twins quite quickly.

Everyone in Spencer's office pitches in and throws her an incredible baby shower and Toby crafts two beautiful handmade cribs and they learn they're having fraternal twins, a bouncing baby boy and a beautiful baby girl. Her water breaks in the middle of a conference call with Canada and Mexico and she labors for seventeen hours before they meet their tiny little munchkins. Spencer's never felt love at first sight ever before in her life… until the doctor places those tiny wrapped bundles into her arms and they have button noses and pink raspberries for mouths and bright blue eyes identical to her husband's. And Toby kisses her over and over and she must tell him she loves him a dozen and one times and those infants squeal and gurgle between them; she's never felt so protective, so wonderfully fearful, or so loved in her entire life.

They name their children Harper, after Harper Lee, and Holden, after Holden Caulfield.

By the time the twins enter kindergarten, they already speak six languages and have been to more countries than their classmates have even heard of. Toby's business is booming and he soon has to contract carpenters from all over the state to keep up with the housing developments going up around the town. Spencer travels across the world and finds success both overseas and right here at home, proposing security updates and peace treaties that earn her the respect of all those around her. They hear from Emily about once a week and Spencer's parents visit every weekend and Aunt Melissa always brings her niece and nephew gifts from wherever her travels take her. Every once in a while, they'll get a call or a text from Hanna and Aria. They never hear from Toby's side of the family ever again.

But Spencer's at peace. For the first time in her life, she feels like she's accomplished everything she's ever wanted.

And when her daughter brings home a masterpiece from art class or when her son cracks her up with a joke and his winning smile, or her husband holds her and kisses her and expresses his love, it is, strangely, words from Dr. Sullivan that always come back to her.

 _I deserve happiness. I deserve respect. I deserve love._

 _I think you've got it._

And she does. She really does.


End file.
